


where my feet touch my shadow

by tarquin



Category: The Creatures (Youtube RPF)
Genre: High School AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 56,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarquin/pseuds/tarquin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seamus and Jordan hook up one night at a party and that's supposed to be it. It isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The party is going about as well as Seamus thought it would.

The beer he holds in his hand was warm fifteen minutes ago, but condensation has still left a perfect circle in the fabric of his jeans. This couch, the only one abandoned in this entire house, is the most uncomfortable place he’s ever sat. Still, it’s probably only devoid of other people because it’s been backed up against the wall where the speakers are hooked up, and so the beat of the bass that pulses through him currently matches almost perfectly with the pounding of his headache.

“I promise you you’ll have a good time.” His brother had assured him earlier that evening. Then, “You’ll regret not going the second that I leave.”

Wrong. Wrong again. 

This isn’t Seamus’ thing, people. Large gatherings of loud voices and bright lights, strangers and sweat and cloying, warm air. It’s all too much, too stifling, and Seamus feels like he can’t get his bearings. People dance and writhe all around him, or laugh loudly at stories he can’t hear or doesn’t understand, and he’d much rather be back at home, where he has some semblance of control.

Alcohol helps, usually. And Seamus has done his part, beelining for the booze as soon as he’d entered, and keeping himself nursing at least one since. But the atmosphere has him stretched taut, and any comfort in knowing that he’ll soon loosen up is preceded heavily by the fact that, if he goes just that much too far, tomorrow there’ll be a video of Drunk Seamus on the phone of every person currently attending this party, and that is literally the last thing he wants.

So, yeah, he’s having a great time.

People pass and mill around him, some with faces that Seamus knows mildly from school, others that are completely alien. They pay him about as much mind as he does them, maybe a glance, a shrug, and then they’re moving into another room, and Seamus is taking another sip of his beer.

They might think to stick around longer, he thinks dryly, if they knew that that was James Wilson’s brother there, somber and bored out of his mind on the couch. But if anything, that just makes Seamus all the more grateful that they couldn’t look less alike.

James is taller by a thin margin, for one. He’s broad shouldered with thick black hair, naturally tan skin and dark brown eyes. Seamus, as the origin of the name O’Doherty (And, you know, “Seamus”) implies, has pale white skin, and he’s shorter and more compact. His hair errs on the side of dirty blond and his eyes are a shiny blue, framed often by square black glasses. God couldn’t have thrown in any more markers to indicate that they are not related by blood.

Looking at the pair of them, the only logical conclusion to come to would be that they’re unlikely friends at the most. And it _is_ fun to watch people’s faces twist in confusion as they try to find some genetic link between them, at least before James inevitably explains that his father married Seamus’ mother when they were kids, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.

Seamus also considers it camouflage, in a way. If he looked just like James, then people might treat him like it. They could mistakenly think he’s got some of his brother’s bravado in his blood when the opposite could not be more true. This is why, really, only one of them are at this party by choice.

From another room Seamus can hear his brother, the boy’s raucous laughter and excited energy vibrates through the walls. If the interchanging chorus of victory whoops and defeated groans are any indication, he’s gravitated back to the beer pong table they’d passed on the way in, as has at least half of the partygoers.

Seamus is almost half tempted to get up and join him, if only to have something other than this to do. He’s sure if he goes the others will receive him warmly. He won’t play because he’s got the hand-eye-coordination of an earthworm that only gets worse when he’s drunk, but he can at least imagine the atmosphere of the room and another few drinks in his blood lightening the mood.

And honestly if he doesn’t? He’ll remain here. Sip off of another beer. Remain somber and bored until he finds a way home, and then get a disappointed huff from James the next morning, the same as always, “What good is going if you’re just gonna pout and bring everyone down the whole time?”

Which should be a good counterargument for the next time James wants to drag him to a social gathering like this, but the point never seems to stand.

Ugh, fuck it. His ass is already sore from this couch and if the only way he’s gonna have fun tonight is by sitting on a tumble dryer, laughing at strangers losing sight of ping-pong-balls, so be it.

Seamus gets up, and is not at all prepared for how the world sways under his feet as he does. He’s only what, two, three beers deep? And already his coordination is slipping, his head spinning lightly.

 He should have eaten something before he came. Should have not come at all, stayed inside instead and played GTA until his eyes forced themselves shut for the night. He should be doing anything other than heading deeper into the throng of bodies gathered a few rooms over, excusing himself and spilling beer onto his wrist as he passes.

“Oh, oops. Sorry, sorry.”

There’s a pause and a shuffling of feet as a roadblock appears in Seamus’ path, a slender one wearing a red t-shirt that is about two shades duller than the red of the baseball cap on his head. The guy’s at least a head and a half taller than Seamus is and moves with the awkward grace of a newborn gazelle as he tries to navigate his way around Seamus’ form, failing spectacularly.

Quickly Seamus finds himself swept up in a two-person shuffle, each of them trying to go separate ways but both of them stepping in the same direction, until suddenly there’s a hand on Seamus’ shoulder that rotates him right, and their paths are once again clear.

Red Hat gives him a nod of apology or acknowledgement, and then he’s wading back the way Seamus had come. Seamus rolls the event off of his shoulders, heading back into the crowd to try and navigate the source of the shouting, hooting and cold beers. Something needles his mind, tells him that he noticed that hat for a reason, but it escapes him.

All the same, a second later a table comes into view, as well as several red cups in various states of disarray, and finally the form of James Wilson himself, a ping pong ball in hand. 

He seems to catch sight of Seamus as the other boy breaks through the crowd, lifting his hand in welcome. Seamus nods in his direction as he maneuvers that much closer to James’ end of the table. By the time the little white ball sinks into a cup on the far corner and the room erupts, the red hat guy has all but evaporated from Seamus’ mind.

  

A half an hour later, and the room is just as bright and loud as it was before, but Seamus hardly minds as much. It turns out, in fact, that liquor tends to move faster when it’s not being begrudgingly sipped on an abandoned couch in a forgotten corner of the world, and that the effects of it seem to speed up fairly quickly when combined with busy laughter and dizzy, frantic movements, such as clapping, or falling off the world’s least stable washing machine.

The game of beer pong has long ended and there’d been a winner Seamus is sure, but he sees this particular game as one that everyone wins. The room is emptier than it had been but there’s still plenty of activity. People dance and talk around him but it’s not as grating as it was before, and if moving his head too fast didn’t make his stomach lurch with a threat every time he tried, Seamus might move to get a little more familiar with his surroundings.

 He’s told he’s punchier when he’s drunk, more physical and by extension, more social. Ugh. Now he can’t tell if he’s toeing the line, or has long passed it.

 So for now he waits. Just a couple more minutes and his stomach will settle, and he’ll go out there and see if the girl who had all those jello-shots is still carting them around.

“Seamus, you look like you’re doing good." 

A purely amused giggle wafts its way into Seamus’ ear, the voice of his brother wavering like a loose guitar string.

“I am.” Seamus answers confidently. He’s smiling, and it grows when a weight drops itself on his shoulder. “I’m doing great.”

Currently Seamus has his head tipped all the way back, it feels heavier than it ever has before, and his eyelids are shut to keep the world from spinning. But he knows his brother. The cologne he wears, the detergent they share, his raspy laugh in Seamus’ ear. That’s James.

“I knew you’d have a good time.” James says smugly, another chuckle working its way out of his throat. “I always know these things, I’m always right. People need to learn that. So much would go better if people just listened to what I was saying.”

Seamus blinks his eyes open slowly, so that his world steadily opens from the print-pattern of the paint on the ceiling to the rest of the house, then the universe. He turns to James in order to scoff.

“Calm down, first of all.” Seamus says, and James cackles at this. He attempts to roll his eyes as best he can without making the world lurch, and when it doesn’t he moves to sit up straighter. Around them, a fresh group of faces Seamus couldn’t differentiate from strangers on the street have moved in. Slowly his eyes pass over each one, finding nothing of particular interest. That is, until Red Hat makes an appearance again, and the bogged-down cogs in the center of his brain start to once again turn.

“James.” Seamus says to his brother. His voice has the tiniest edge of seriousness in it and it brings James to attention.

“Yeah." 

“Who is that?”

Unceremoniously, and with the least amount of subtlety possible, Seamus swings his arm in the direction of the boy. Not that he’s noticed. Red Hat’s got a (red, maybe he’s got some kind of theme going on,) cup in his hand that’s maybe half full, but he doesn’t look to be much enjoying the party. In fact he looks a bit like what Seamus imagines he himself did not long ago, tense and unsure and not nearly drunk enough to be dealing with all of this.

Also, he looks scared. Blatantly. His eyes are wide as they scan the room, unsure as they fall targetless. His shoulders are stiff, his entire posture is a train wreck of nervousness actually, and he’s taken three deep breaths since he’s stepped in the room. Seamus almost wants to ask him if he’s lost or hurt, but James’ gasp reaches him first. 

“Oh _shit_.” The boy says, sounding almost awed. “That’s Jordan Matthewson.”

The name could be familiar. Should be, by the tone of James’ voice. Seamus has definitely heard it tossed around these past few weeks with more frequency than he’s ever heard it before, but he can’t place why. 

“Jordan...” He says quietly so that the boy won’t hear.

James nods, but when Seamus doesn’t act as though he’s just seen a foreign deity walk into the room he elaborates, “That’s one of the dudes who got caught making out together in the locker room a few weeks ago. The one who _doesn’t_ have a girlfriend.” 

That rings a bell, or several really, considering it’s all anyone’s been talking about for the last two or three weeks. Seamus’ social circle consists mainly of James and whoever else James brings in, which means he gets an all access free pass into the gossip mill, and for so long now it’s been one story after another about that sophomore in the archery club, the one who is a die-hard Cardinals fan and who’s name no one really even knew until everyone did.

 Seamus has heard all sorts of stories about what went down with him that day, and it all boils down to the fact that yeah, he was kissing his friend in a locker room, yeah, his friend is straight but no, he is not. After that, details dissolve into hearsay, about the intensity of the kiss or how his parents reacted to having a gay (later redacted, bi,) son. It’s gone around a few times that most of his friends on the sportier side of things have started to ebb away from him, as well as his friends in academia.

Nothing about him, from social status to time since being dragged out of the closet, suggests that he should be at this party. Seamus’ interest is caught. 

So he takes a second glance at him, trying to gauge what the hubbub is all about. Now that he’s actually studying him, he notes that the boy’s got a classic handsomeness to him, not Hollywood really, more middle-America born and bred, a couple generations too late to the farm. He’s dressed plainly, which is something to say among the crowd of cargo shorts and pocket emblems. With chestnut brown hair that just brushes over his ears and a smattering of stubble that makes him look too old for his own good, he’s not anything outstanding, but he’s not bad either.

His eyes are a light green-blue, and still very much unsure.

“Huh.” Seamus says finally to James, who is watching him for a reaction. He takes a swig from the beer in his hand and cocks his head to the side with a shrug. “He’s taller than I would have guessed.”

“What the hell’s he doing here, I wonder?” James says out loud, mostly to himself though Seamus knows he’s free to answer. “I mean, he can do whatever he wants I guess, but if I were him I wouldn’t be out and about right now. I can’t handle knowing people are whispering shit behind my back all the time.”

“Like we’re doing right now?” Seamus hums. James frowns.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Well he looks like he’s having a great time.” Seamus says, watching idly as the boy wades through the crowd, trying to spark up conversations with people who either shrug him off or smile too wide when they respond. Ugh, Seamus knows that all too well, remembers it with the fondness that comes with remembering hardcore dentristry or forgotten homework.

 “You should talk to him.” James says. Seamus turns to give him a sharp, unamused look but his brother’s face is red when he sees it, from his drink and from how hard he’s holding back a laugh. Seamus checks him with his shoulder, rolling his eyes.

“Go and spend time with people that want your company.” He says, giving him a light shove. James needs no further prodding; he’ll circle around this party twice and give everyone that catches his eye the same amount of attention he gave Seamus happily. It’s what he lives for, really.

So James clanks his almost-empty can against Seamus’ full one and heads off into the crowd, closer to the music and a higher concentration of people. Seamus watches him go until the party swallows him whole.

Jordan’s still there, though. He seems to have found solace in a couple of people who seem only slightly unnerved by his presence, posture locked cold so as to not suggest reciprocation, but chatting with him all the same.

And Seamus’ mind is a soup of sorts, half relaxed by the drinks and his previous comfort levels, but also on edge now that he’s on his own, and looking for something to fill the emptiness that he can’t stuff more drinks or his brother into.

Beside him there’s a cooler filled with more water than ice, and a lonely two beers float just under the surface. James’ teasing words echo in Seamus’ mind, _go talk to him_ , and Seamus knows he could leave it be. He could claim those last two beers as his own and drink until his stomach protests and the last of his mind leaves him, and enjoy the rest of the evening as best he can.

But in front of him Jordan has apparently run out of nicites to say, and the group has turned their back on him. His hands are empty and he’s surveying the landscape and fuck, he looks pathetic. Seamus feels like James then, a haughty scold in his voice as he asks Seamus why he would even come to this thing if he was just gonna stand around and look uncomfortable. 

But it’s the liquor, it’s absolutely the liquor that leads Seamus to dunk his hand into the cooler and pull out the beers. It’s softened up his brain and he’s feeling charitable, and if he has to be in the same space with those big sad eyes for much longer he’ll pop.

 He shimmies off of the washing machine and his feet sting when they hit the ground. He still has enough balance and enough of his wits with him, which is kind of surprising really, because his wits would usually be the thing stopping him from extending the can to Jordan a second later, shrugging as he says “Thirsty?”

Jordan casts him a suspicious glance. If he recognizes Seamus from before it doesn’t show, as he’s mostly just studying the boy as though he’s trying to figure out his game. Which Seamus can’t blame him for really, when everyone here so far has been treating him like a leper or a side-show attraction.

“You looked like you needed a drink.” Seamus follows up, already regretting this. But he tacks on a dry little smile at the end anyway, and Jordan’s face softens. He smiles back, wider and more genuine, and his hand brushes Seamus’ as he takes the beer. He has big hands. Suntanned.

Oh no.

“Thanks.” Jordan says, smiling a little wider as he cracks open the drink. Seamus does the same and they take respective sips, narrowing the weird tension between them.

“Wanna join me by the window?” Seamus asks. “You look a little lost out there, I figured you could use some company.”

 Ten seconds into knowing this guy and his stupid drunk brain is already turning wheels. _Seamus O’Doherty rein it in. Where is your conscience._

“Alright.” Jordan says, and already he’s relaxing and looking a little less wounded. “Sure. I’m Jordan.”

Seamus cocks his head to the side. “Seamus.”

 

 Not fifteen minutes later and Seamus has lost all sense of regret, as well as most of his fine motor skills. The washing machine had proven an unfit throne for Jordan and himself, and as such Jordan’s perched on the closed cooler beside him, Head lolled onto the cool metal and inches away from Seamus thigh.

Hey, you know, James had brought him out to have a good time.

This isn’t something he makes a habit of. It’s hard to, in fact, when the local non-straight population fluctuates between three and five people including himself, and has done so since he moved here. And honestly, when a desire this messy and ineloquent rises up inside of him, Seamus is usually quick to stomp it out. There’s always aftermath, there’s always drama, it’s never worth it.

But Jordan is…nice. No, honestly, he’s genuinely kind. Once he stops scoping out Seamus like he’s hoarding some ulterior motive the boy unwinds, lets laughter flow freer from his chest and talks more openly. At one point one of them had mentioned video games and open the gates had flown, trading sips and talk of the games they played, ones they were looking forward to. After that talk transitioned to other hobbies, and now Seamus is trying to get a hold of himself while Jordan talks more about his latest archery trip.

Seamus can’t say with any certainty that he likes this guy, but he doesn’t dislike him either. And he hadn’t offered him a drink only because he was looking for something seedier, but now the option is there, dangling in front of him on a string, and Seamus can’t look away.

Jordan finishes his anecdote with something he found funny, and to keep up appearances Seamus huffs a laugh. Jordan is loose as well, glassy eyed and as relaxed as Seamus has seen him all evening.

Hell, there’s no guarantee Jordan will even go through with it, that he’ll even say yes. Everything about him is so home-grown good boy, Seamus can’t imagine him climbing up the stairwell with a dark hunger in his eyes.

(Yes he can. Yes he can, shit.)

 Neither of them say it out loud to each other, anything about their respective sexualities. Seamus doesn’t mention how the boy beside him is infamous within these walls because, honestly, it’s kind of a given. And in the same vein, when Jordan puts the pieces together from something Seamus says and responds, hey, wait, you’re James Wilson’s brother? All Seamus has to do is nod once, and the messages are clear. Their reputations precede them.

 The fact that Jordan doesn’t ask any further once he finds out who Seamus is makes him tolerate the boy that much more. In the same way, he assumes, that Seamus not straight up going, “So, how are you dealing with being outed to your entire school and family?” makes Jordan trust him a little more too.

 James will be mad. All of his gossip and social ties are so much easier to handle when he or Seamus aren’t involved, and if word gets out that Seamus and the newest outed boy in the school hooked up somewhere while they were drunk, it’ll become his life for weeks.

 Granted, he probably won’t be as annoyed as he was when he found out Seamus was doing much the same with his friend Aleks before they broke it off, but that’s hardly a standard to be held to. Wow, he’d been pissed.

 Seamus is so deep in thought he doesn’t notice Jordan staring at him at first. And when he does, the confusion in those big blue-greens seal the decision for him. Seamus had been dragged out to have fun. Jordan had been drowning out there before Seamus had thrown him a lifeboat. And if there’s one way to secure fun despite all things, in Seamus’ opinion anyway, it’s this.

 “So. You wanna go upstairs?” He ventures, putting all his cards on the table. “Where we can, you know, hear each other better?”

 Jordan isn’t fooled by the phrasing, not from the get go. Whether it’s something on Seamus’ face or the tone of his voice, the other boy understands fast that he’s not being invited away for more idle conversation. And at the first hint of recognition, Seamus is ready to abandon ship. Apologize for jumping the gun, thanking him for his company, and ejecting himself from the party to instead pass out outside on a cool pile of leaves.

 “Sure.” Jordan says with a shrug. “Alright.”

 If this were a movie, Seamus would straight up do a double take. In the moment that Jordan’s ‘yes’ processes through his mind, he almost considers it. But instead his eyebrows jump and his mouth falls slightly open and he says with a dry cough, “Wait. Really?”

 Now, Jordan doesn’t exactly look like the picture of confidence, but he’s also not visibly fighting any demons that are holding him back. The boy’s face is honest, a little too honest maybe thanks to the drinks, and when he shrugs and says “Yeah.” Seamus is almost shocked.

 The shock passes fast soonafter, of course, because they’ve got some stairs to climb, but for a moment he just stares back at Jordan, until an appreciative smile forms on his own lips.

They slip through the party mostly unnoticed, and Seamus thanks himself for this. Jordan might be more easily spotted were he not dedicatedly following behind someone who genuinely has no recognizable social status to gossip about. (That “I don’t look like I’m James Wilson’s brother” camouflage has yet to fail him.)

 They make their way through a warm throng of bodies, picking around until the smattering of people become less and less. Upstairs only a few mill around, and Seamus aims to fit right in with them as he confidently leads Jordan forward, picking the first unlocked door he finds and ushering the other boy in. If anyone notices or cares, they don’t make a show of it.

 

Seamus would have settled for a bathroom, he prefers them really, but the bedroom they stumble into will do well enough. It's bare bones, no pictures on the wall, no indictors that this is someone's well worn in safe space. Which takes away the magic of fucking a stranger over the sheets a little, but not enough to ruin the experience all together.

 It's a guest room, probably, and Seamus figures that they  _are_  guests.

 Jordan's staring at him kind of wide-eye'd from beside the door once they get in. His posture is stiff again, and from the dim light outside the furthest window, Seamus can just see his eyes darting around the room. He looks far more like a nervous animal than a prospective partner, and Seamus pauses from fiddling with his phone to face him.

 "You don't have to do this, you know." Like hell this will be a negative experience for him. Like hell either of their party hookups will be ruined by pressure and worry. Like fucking hell.

 (Seamus had not been aware that he'd be so protective over someone else's good time until he'd been watching it get debated in front of him. Huh, who knew. And people say he's a cold gutless angry little narcissist. Anyway, what was he saying?)

 Jordan shrugs, still next to the door like he's poised to flee, and says gently, "I know. I.. I want to."

 "Convincing." Seamus hums. "Then why are you standing there like you're gonna bolt s soon as I take a step closer to you?"

 "I won't." Jordan answers fast. "I just. I got walked in on before, you know? And it didn't go so well. So I'm kind of-"

 Seamus nods, another sympathetic knot tugging his stomach. (Hey, that's two this week and it's only Saturday. A record, maybe?) He moves his way past Jordan, who watches his every movement astutely, until the lock under the door his hooked into place, tested, and then tested again. The door doesn't budge, neither does Jordan.

"I'm just saying." Seamus says, getting more aquatinted with the bed in the hopes that Jordan will follow suit, "I asked you if you were down for this but if you're not, that's fine. And if you thought you were into this downstairs but now you're having second thoughts, that's also fine. Just don't make a decision that you'll regret in... four minutes, if I'm being gratuitous."

The barest hint of a smile tugs on Jordan's lips and Seamus knows he's hit home. That's one of the things about hooking up with a stranger, neither of you know each other's buttons. But dry humor is Seamus' chariot to parade in on, and it seems to have worked on Jordan.

"Four minutes." He echoes, and nervously takes a step forward. Then another one with just a little more bravado. "Impressive."

"Ah, you flatter." Seamus replies, and not long afterwards Jordan is at the edge of the bed, ready to join him.

 Except, whereas Seamus has steady, desire-driven hands, Jordan's nerves are still playing up on his, and as such, Jordan wrestles with his belt right there next to Seamus for a good thirty seconds. "Darn thing," he grumbles.

Finally Seamus gives an amused huff and reaches for his groin, and Jordan jumps back like a spooked animal, like Seamus' hand is made of fire. 

"No, it's fine." He says a second later. "I got it."

Seamus rolls his eyes and falls to the urge to roll back on the bed. "Once again Jordan,” He says. “May I remind you that you're not under contractual obligation to fuck me. And if you do not want to fuck me, which  _will_  include me touching you, then I'm fine with that, and you can go rejoin the party." 

"I'm sorry." Comes a small voice from the middle of the room. Seamus is ready to fire back with "Nothing to be sorry for," but Jordan keeps going.

"This is just my first time doing something like this, it's all kinda scary. I know that's not exactly...erotic talk, but."

Seamus can't stop the laugh that breaches his chest. He'd known it would have to be the boy's first time. The jumpiness, the hesitance. Classic stuff. But he doesn't blame him. Seamus had offered him a very tempting idea ad Jordan had chomped at the bait before he was ready to get reeled in. Nothing new, really.

  Seamus sits back up on the bed, preparing himself to see Jordan out of the room and back downstairs, and sees that the belt has come loose and either end is hanging wayward from the front of Jordan's jeans. He perks an eyebrow.

"But I do wanna try this. And you seemed confident, so I figured you'd know what you wanted and I could just go with it. But I guess I'm more nervous than I thought."

"That's understandable." Seamus says. He hadn't really accounted on being someone's step by step guide into the land of dick-touching tonight, but life is full of surprises. And hell, it still beats sulking downstairs until James is ready to leave. "Do you need like, a minute, or,"

 "Can I kiss you?"

If Jordan had been working hard this entire time to throw Seamus, he's just succeeded. Suddenly Seamus' assuredness wanes, and he stares from the lip of the bed, eyes widening.

"Kiss me?" 

"Yeah, just to, you know, start a little slow."

Jordan is staring at him with all the innocence of a kitten. But also a hungry teenage boy who came up here to get off, but is still really nervous about it. With his stupid red hat and big hands held awkwardly at his sides, he's a sight to take in.

What a turn Seamus' night has taken.

 He assumes somewhere down the line anyway there would have been kissing, or lip-biting if the definition is flax. But as far as he can tell, right now, Jordan is hoping that Seamus will get up, walk over there, and kiss him like this is some pg-13 romcom, and Seamus is his boycrush. The indignity of that thought alone almost makes him want to say no. 

But at the same time curiosity has hooked him. This boy who is so driven to complete this, even if it means awkwardly standing there, trying not to look like he's in a permanent state of cringe.

 Seamus takes him in, all nervous posture and expectant breaths, and he can't will himself to turn the offer down.

At some point, he assumes, there _will_ be nakedness involved in this.

"Sure." He says finally, tentatively, as he gets to his feet. He's not as drunk as he was before if the stability of the room is anything to go by, and he makes the three step journey over to Jordan without incident. Then he's just standing there in that little personal bubble, and he remembers what it was about Jordan that drew his eye in the first place. 

Little things like the stupid fact that straight on, his eyes are probably just a couple inches above Jordan's nipples. His cologne that Seamus likes, which is some sharp sweet smell that's alluring without giving him a headache. That interesting, nervous energy that had radiated off of him as Seamus had shown him just that much kindness downstairs. His hands are so big, holy shit.

 Jordan seems to know what to do here, maybe more that Seamus even does. Then again this guy has had, if James' gossip is to be trusted, a good three girlfriends in the last few months, none of whom knew he was only partially playing for their team until the bomb dropped, so maybe the affectionate stuff comes easier to him. He leans down while Seamus tips his chin up and yeah, that's a kiss.

It's the kind of kiss Seamus would assume nervous straight couples give behind churchouses, though he can't confirm with experience in any of those fields. The first few seconds are chaste, a tiny brush of lips and the smallest breath from Jordan which, despite all things, does make a tiny spark of energy jolt up his spine. 

He flicks his eyes open a second later and Jordan lets out a nervous little laugh. 

"Alright." Seamus says, molding himself closer and letting himself enjoy the proximity, "Not bad."

This must be encouragement enough because Jordan moves a little bolder this time. The hands that were parked staunchly by his waist now move carefully to Seamus' body, his shoulder and hip specifically, like they're a pair at a dance. Which Seamus would protest to, but a moment later he feels the softness of Jordan's lips on his again, this time with a stronger brush of beard and a little more fervor. Seamus' senses start to wake back up, his mind starts to fire off ideas again.

 He chases Jordan's lips with that much more desire, not wanting to push but also wanting more. His curiosity or incessance earns him a reward though, as Jordan gently opens his mouth and invites Seamus to do the same. And after this, something a little more familiar wakes up in his mind.

He can kiss back now, and he can show Jordan how nice it can feel. His hands, tentative up until this point so as not to repeat the last time, gently raise until he's got a palm on either side of Jordan's body. The taller boy stills at the contact for a moment, but slowly melds into it. Focuses his attention on dipping into Seamus' mouth, testing the red of his lips.

Jordan drops the prom dance pose after a while, instead taking the opportunity to explore the rest of Seamus' body, his ribs and his chin and the short mop of hair that trails just a couple inches down the back of Seamus' neck. He keeps his hands deftly above the waist though, Seamus can't help but notice. 

But this is fine for now. It's weird, definitely not like Seamus is used to, but at the same time he's not opposed to it. Over time the tension ebbs away, he finds, and soon their bodies are mingling that much more. With shallow breaths and bellies that brush together as they grow more adventurous, it's not the quick fuck he'd come up here for, but it's not  _bad._

 Jordan pulls away after a couple of minutes and Seamus' heavy mind swims back to reality when he realizes that the boy will not be ducking down to kiss him again. Instead he's staring down at Seamus with something like smugness on his face, backed up by red, flushed skin.

"I think this was a good idea." He says, unabashedly proud. Seamus absolutely does have it in him to tout the boy, and at any other moment in the world he might, but right now he's got one hand poised on Jordan's hip and the bed is right there, and he's not going to test his luck further than he has to.

"It wasn't bad." Seamus says. Then, channeling some kind of suaveness that would have stayed easier if he was more drunk, "You wanna sit down now? You feelin' good?"

 He's perfectly content to reiterate that Jordan is under no circumstances supposed to go any further now, but Jordan's lost some of the genuine fear from before. He looks at the bed, then at Seamus' mouth, and lets a tight breath out of his chest. Visibly, under Seamus' palm, he relaxes.

 "Sure." He says. "Okay."

Internally Seamus punches the air in success, ridiculously pleased that the night won't end with him biting his fist in his bedroom while James shouts drunkenly to him somewhere else. (Or it will, but Seamus will have also gotten laid.)

Externally however, he nods and pulls away from the intimate little setting they've created for themselves, easing himself back down on the bed and leaving plenty of space for Jordan to do the same. Tentatively he does, testing the springs of the mattress has he lowers himself down, until they're lying parallel on the short side of the bed. 

"Now what." Jordan asks completely genuinely, so much so that Seamus has to swallow a wobbly smile.

"I dunno, it depends." Seamus replies. "I mean, I came up here to touch a dick in some capacity, but the rest is really up to you. I mean, it is your first time and all." 

Jordan looks down, thinks for a second. "First time with a guy." He corrects, almost shyly.

 Seamus smirks, "Doesn't make a difference to me."

"Well, I mean." Jordan sputters, turning away from Seamus and looking intently at the ceiling. "You know more than me, I think. So just, uh, what do you want to do with me?"

Admittedly, the slow pace of the evening so far had done well to cool Seamus' skin somewhat, and tone down the torrent that had begun churning in his lower belly. That though, that gets things kicking again.

"You know, usually, it's me asking that." Seamus says, just to be a little saucy and to see the revelation hit Jordan's eyes. When it does, it's priceless.

"Really." Jordan says with the first hint of hunger under his words. Seamus nods. "Yep."

But the curveball Seamus has hit him with stops Jordan in his tracks, and they're clearly not progressing any better with this game of "I dunno, what do  _you_  wanna do." So, out of impatience or necessity or both, he asks, "Do you have a condom on you?"

 Jordan freezes, then turns to look at Seamus with something resembling shame. The poor guy.

 "No, I. I didn't think ahead and,"

"So that probably means no lube either."

"N-no. It didn't really cross my mind."

 "You ever touch another dude's dick before? Any guy ever touch your dick beside yourself?"

 Seamus has earned this, right? Jordan asked to give him a closed mouth kiss, he can ask some questions too. And anyway, watching Jordan turn as red as his hat right beside him as Seamus asks about his dick status like he's asking about the weather, is more worth it than maybe he can even handle.

 "I've never touched someone else's... and a guy's never, you know,"

 "You have a way with words, you know that? It's a gift, I think."

 Jordan is too busy stewing tomato red to answer. Seamus huffs another laugh and moves so he's steadying himself up with one hand.

 "Sorry to say then, I don't think your first penetrative experience will be tonight. Or with me, anyway." What's redder than tomato red? How red are beets? Jordan's trying to find out. "Trust me, it's better that way. But I can still get you off if you want. I take it you're not exactly ready to have a dick in your mouth?"

 Jordan look's like he's been struck, or like someone's just poured cold water on him. Seamus wants to comfort him like a spooked deer. _Easy boy_.

 "That's cool. Honestly, inexperienced blowjobs are kinda." Still great, but Seamus won't tell him that. Instead he makes a wishy-washy hand gesture and continues on while Jordan looks like he wants to dissolve. "Handjobs are pretty easy though. You're probably already familiar." 

 Jordan hesitates, and Seamus tacks on, "Only if you want to. I swear I won't be mad if you call it off in the eleventh hour." Seamus is good at sounding dry, detached, sarcastic. He tries with all he's got to keep that out of his tone here.

 Then there's a hand on his leg. A warm one, a large one. The wordless affirmation sends fire out in all directions from where he's touching as Jordan moves to situate himself better, Seamus moving to follow suit.

"Alright." He says then as they get comfortable again. "Okay."

Seconds later and they're sprawled longways on the bed so it supports them, absolutely ruining the sanctity of this guest bed with their intentions, and Seamus reaches excitedly for his zipper.

"It's pretty basic stuff, I think." He narrates, if only to fill the silence. "Don't yank like you're changing a gearshift, don't like, give me a burn from twisting too hard. Is there lotion in here? Or do you just wanna spit in your hand?"

Jordan watches him sheepily as Seamus makes quick work of his jeans and everything else that's in the way. He could just yank down the zipper and fish around in his boxers until he's content, but cold metal teeth and awkward access worries him, and so he soon finds himself nigh laid bare on the sheets, pants shimmied down under the swell of his ass, his own hand wrapped around the shaft of his cock.

And the other boy tries to keep up, though his movements don't have the practice or confidence that Seamus puts forth. He fumbles with his jeans and won't look at Seamus as he works himself free, and when they're both in a mutual position of openness and wait, it's Seamus who reaches out first. Surprise, surprise. 

 "Tell me you're sure, Jordan. Tell me you're ready." He asks, one more time for safety.

Jordan breaks the intense stare he'd been holding with the wall just above Seamus' ear to look at him. To release a deep, shaky breath in his lungs and to nod, saying in the softest voice, "Touch me, please."

Seamus needs no further invitation, and watches Jordan's expression flutter as he takes him in his hand. Gently he runs the warmth of his palm up and down the length of him, feeling the skin and blood start to rouse after a few moments.

 Jordan bites down hard on his lip and his head lolls just a little as Seamus works him, getting familiar with his anatomy before trying anything, then gently starting to work his hand, his fingers.

 "You can talk, it's okay." Seamus assures him as tight little gasps start breaking between shut lips. "Tell me what feels good."

 Carefully he runs his hand down to the base and across the coarse thick hair there, then steadily up to just under the tip. (Circumcised, he notes.) He repeats this a few times and steadily Jordan starts to pant, huffing, "M-more. That, yeah, that."

 And so Seamus works his hand in quick, practiced motions, mostly copying what he's used to and what he likes. His fingers softly knead the skin as Jordan grows harder, and he focuses attention on the underside of his dick and the vein there, until Jordan's plainly whimpering for more. It's not exactly lusty or an incredibly skilled practice, but it's good all the same.

 Seamus could get Jordan off in all of thirty seconds from now, if he wanted to. He could dislodge his free hand from where it's propping his head up and reach down to touch his balls, just to see his eyes go black. He could start jackhammering his arm to a rapid pace and slow down just to watch Jordan whine. Honestly, Seamus isn't even sure what this is, this pride in his chest. It swells as he watches the other boy twist and keen under his grasp, and  _fuck_  that time Aleks told him he was selfish in bed.

 Jordan's hips start to twitch erratically and he's got a hand over his mouth. He's twisted around to the point where he's on his back, and Seamus follows him, looming over him as best he can with one hand still working his dick. Jordan might be calling his name into the hand that blocks his mouth and he's absolutely having a good time if the encouraging jerks of his hips are anything to go by. Then all too suddenly Jordan's free hand clamps down on Seamus' arm, his eyes widen then clamp shut, and the highest moan eeks its way out from through his fingers.

 Seamus continues to move his hand throughout Jordan's orgasm, watches with no shortness of achievement as the idiot makes a mess on the hem of his shirt. He carries on until Jordan's hips have stopped, until his eyes have opened, and his body has relaxed into the mattress. Then he lets go, and Jordan looks at him like he's royalty.

 "Wow." He pants. "That's. That was."

 "Fun." Seamus finishes for him, surprised at how true the statement is. Hell, maybe he'll even go home tonight with some moral on his shoulders about the positive affects of giving. Or maybe that message will stay on the stain from where he's wiped his hand on the comforter, who knows.

 "Yeah." Jordan says after a pause. "It was."

 And then he lifts a limp and heavy head to examine Seamus, who now becomes alarmingly aware at the fact that, throughout the ordeal, he's been getting harder himself, just by watching Jordan get off. And that now he's sat there, crouched over the boy on his knees with his pants well under him, flushed and expectant.

 "Here." Jordan says in a voice that's kind, if a little nervous. "I'll do you."

  _At least cool down first._  Seamus wants to say, but already the boy is propping himself up, staring forward and resting a hand on his own thigh.

 "Is it okay if I?" he asks, and Seamus is amused at his manners. His body starts to hum with anticipation and heat and he tells himself not to get excited. All the same, his voice is a dry warble as he says "By all means."

 And Jordan is obviously not the most experienced or the most confident, there's no real way to hide this. Not that Seamus minds terribly, not when one of those warm big hands is in the second best place it could be. And Seamus, who has no bashfulness when it comes to stuff like this, is more than happy to help him smooth out the process.

 The sitting up thing, for example, fails hard as Jordan starts to work into a rhythm, long strokes with a tight, damp grip. Seamus works himself on to his side, and with every downstroke the muscles in his body clench, his hips roll up towards the contact. His legs stray wider, until it reaches the point where he's toppled back and Jordan is all but seated between them.

 He looks good there,  _feels_  good there. Seamus wishes he could be there longer.

 "You're so good at this." Seamus spills affirmations, as every single one seems to give Jordan that much more gusto. "Keep it up, don't stop. Oh, don't stop, don't."

 And Jordan doesn't, he continues under tentative coaching and pure instinct until the knots and wires in Seamus' stomach start to heat and writhe, and until sparks fly under his eyelids. His toes curl and his breath hitches, and he just hisses out a contented sigh as he comes.

 By all definitions it is a perfectly acceptable and enjoyable orgasm.

 And when Seamus looks up, fixes his glasses that have gone askew and sees Jordan still there, swept between his knees and looking nearly dumbfoundedly at the mess remaining on his hand, the entire evening finally becomes worth it.

 "Hey." Seamus says, and Jordan snaps to attention, hiding his hand under him like he's got some level of shame about it. Seamus lets the endorphins have him for a second as he says, "Not bad." and he knocks him with a knee.

 Jordan stares back, and a smile creeps up his face, one that's all shades of bashfulness and embarrassment and pride. 

 Over a handjob, wow.

 "Thanks." He coughs awkwardly. And then, "You too."

 And then, within a matter of minutes, everything is over.

 Jordan makes his way out from between Seamus' legs and cleans off his hand to the best of his ability, though Seamus instructs him to find a bathroom if it affects him all that much. Jordan's hat, which had toppled off during the first leg of the evening, is retrieved from the floor and secured back on his head.

 There's no noise in the room after that, other than the rustling of belts and the pound of music from outside and wow, that's right, there was a party like thirty feet away from them the whole time. Huh. Who knew.

 It’s awkward, of course it is, but Seamus doesn’t acknowledge it. He doesn’t know how to leave Jordan here in the aftermath, and almost immediately regrets for what he’d done. He doesn’t even know what this was, a pity fuck? Jordan’s handsome and all but he could have kept him company downstairs for hours without jumping to this.

 He’d wanted the boy to stop looking so miserable, so lost. Some ass-backwards camaraderie had riled up in his stupid drunk mind and his crossed wires had told him that, yes, absolutely, fucking him will make him less alone.

 But now Jordan’s deftly alone. He’s standing in front of the window so light washes over him as he’s straightening his clothes and looking as unsure as ever. And in thirty seconds Seamus will be out that door and Jordan will be left behind, and Seamus can’t believe he’s done something so stupid.

 “Why did you come out here tonight?” Seamus asks, feeling his stomach knot. Fuck moments of clarity, honestly. “What made you do this?”

 Jordan faces him, and his eyes, thankfully, aren’t swimming with regret like Seamus assumed they’d be. Instead they’re still hazy, awash with liquor and excitement at the newness of what he’s done. But at the question his head cocks to the side a little, and he smiles softly.

 “I kinda wanted things to go back to normal.” He says. “Back to how they were before.”

 Seamus feels like he’s been hit.

 “I guess that didn’t really happen, though.”

 His tone is soft, amused, kind. Seamus’ mind is whirring.

 “No, I guess not.”

 "But I also wanted to have a good time and that end up happening, so it balances out."

 Seamus laughs the barest of sounds. "Yeah," he says. "Okay." 

 Eventually Seamus makes it to the door. Jordan is close behind which he’s grateful for, he at least doesn’t want the boy to be completely lonesome again, and he shakes his shoulders as he readies himself to face the music. Before he takes the doorhandle though, he pauses, then coughs.

 "I guess I'll see you around?" He says dryly. Jordan looks up, looks at him.

"Yeah." he says after a beat. "See you."

  

Seamus finds James downstairs a few minutes later, nestled among the beer cans and winecoolers like a dragon with its hoard. He faces him, finds his brother completely shitfaced and maybe a little tuckered out. Seamus taps his face once to get his attention. He thinks he’ll be sick.

"Hey." He tells him. "I'm ready to go home, and so are you."

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

The cool, clean porcelain around James’ head does little to muffle the scorn in his voice. Seamus can’t see the boy’s face as most of it is around the rim of the toilet bowl, but he knows the words are aimed at him.

Over time, Seamus has come to assume that in exchange for James’ bravado, as well as his ridiculous short-term alcohol tolerance, the boy has long been cursed with lengthy and terrible morning-afters. Starting around six hours after he’d tiptoe into the house well after curfew and lasting well into the day, Seamus would catch wind of his brother’s misery. Whether it be the moments right after waking up and making a run for the toilet to empty his stomach, or Seamus finding him on the floor of his room hours later, face down in the plush of his carpet. 

Seamus would observe most of this from his room, connected to James’ own through the joint bathroom that they share. As it was, the late-morning sun had strewn in cruelly through his blinds not long ago, Seamus had rolled over grouchily and desperate to wipe the taste of the night before off his tongue. A brief lift of the head and squint in the direction of the bathroom and he’d found that James beat him to the punch.

But it seemed then, as Seamus roused to consciousness and James wiped pitifully at the corner of his mouth with his sweater sleeve, that the he’d slept through most of the ordeal, and the worst of the worst was over.

So, naturally, that had been when Seamus’s pounding brain had decided to spring the news on to his brother that he’d hooked up with Coby Carl High School’s most infamous student the night before. 

James had just looked at him. Eyed him with a long, measured, steady gaze. And then promptly he dropped his head low, a shudder running up the length of his body as he dry-heaved once more, though this time no doubt just for theatrics.

“Drama queen.” Seamus scoffed a second later.

Of course, he didn’t offer this information for no reason. Quite honestly, the more the thick, hazy memory of the night before weaved in front of his sober mind, the more Seamus wanted to forget it all together. As far as poorly thought out, impulsive plans went, that was about as bad as Seamus had ever gone. Hell, that was the worst that drunk Seamus had ever done.

Maybe if Jordan had been some nameless figure, someone like the person he’d been the week before his name was in the mouth of every student and most gossiping parents in town, it would have been fun. A quick messy forgettable experience. But now if Jordan so much as told one other person about this, it would mean that Seamus was involved. It would mean James, by extent, would be involved. 

He couldn’t have just downed two more drinks and passed out cold, could he.

“It won’t be that bad.” Seamus sighs as he eyes the bathroom hungrily. His skin and clothes still smell of the last twelve hours of his life and all he wants is the hot steam of the shower washing over him. But not until James is thoroughly emptied, of course. 

“Won’t be that bad.” James echoes with a pitiful laugh. “Literally everyone wants to know what Jordan’s going to do next, you know that, right? People are saying he’s gonna transfer or get homeschooled because of all the shit people are giving him. And then you go and dick him.”

“I didn’t dick him.” Seamus rebuffs, almost offended.  “It was more like a mutual jerk-off thing, if you have to know.”

“Ugh.” James moans, burying his face in the contours of his arm. “Don’t ever say anything like that to me again, oh my god.”

“Just thought I’d clarify some things before the rumor mill starts spinning.” Seamus hums, getting to his feet and gathering up some clothes that don’t smell like a musty guest room and padding closer to their shared space.

“Did he seem like the type to brag about this, anyway?” James asks, hoisting himself to his feel and pawing at the toilet handle. Seamus pointedly avoids looking down as he shrugs.

“Hard to say, really. He seemed like an okay enough guy, I guess. He likes Mass Effect and his cats.  We didn’t really talk about anything that we did, and afterwards we just sort of split.”

James musters another pitiful noise of disgust and Seamus fights the urge to check him in the shoulder, lest he topple the very unstable boy. Instead he scoffs, shooing him into his own room.

“Besides, maybe this will shut everyone up, who knows. He’s not doing anything drastic, he’s just out getting wasted and hooking up with dudes, living the American dream.” 

James chokes on an amused sound as he heads for his bedside. “Right. And not at all that he’s in a shit spiral after everything hit the fan. No one will pull that shit and blame you for dragging him down.”

Seamus just rolls his eyes, shutting the door to James’ room with a definitive clink. From the other side, he can just hear James hit the mattress hard.

“Go get a glass of water,” he touts, spinning the hot spigot on. “You’ll get dehydrated.”

“Mmmf.” Comes the reply.

//

As it turns out, a day’s worth of mild concern over what to do after Jordan ultimately broadcast on the local news that he hooked up with James Wilson’s brother was a day wasted in the end. James’ phone never blew up with accusing texts and Seamus never ended up with his texting app bustling to life as people tried to fill in any curious gaps. In fact, as he shuffles into the school building the following day, it’s as though nothing ever happened, and no one has any further reason to know his name.

Which is just how Seamus likes it, if he’s being honest.

Coby Carl high School is an unsuspecting little building nestled just outside of Denver. Somehow through an intricate scheme of decent enough grades, low enough incidents of vandalism, and rich enough parents, the school has long been regarded as the pride of its city. Compared to the school Seamus had attended the year prior, a lower-end establishment where every student was asked to bring in boxes of kleen-ex for extra credit at the start of the cold months, this place looks damn near regal.

Seamus doesn’t care for it.

Unsurprising really, as Seamus doesn’t care for much beyond his cat, Mr. Meowgi, his ps4, the rain, and the 1993 NBC sitcom Frasier. But at least here he has his reasons. Whereas in his last school he’d at least had his footing, he was by no means popular or incredibly well liked, he lived in James’ shadow even then, at least he had a niche.

People at the old place were at least willing to put up with the smart-ass who sat in the back of the class, the one who couldn’t be bothered to learn about the industrial revolution for the fifth, maybe sixth time in a row thanks to an ass-backwards teaching curriculum. Seamus found his place making snarky little comments under his breath at the teacher up front, who would carry on oblivious. And those who found him funny, he ran with.

There are none of those people here.

 In fact, Seamus had spent almost two weeks following through with his old rituals before pointed glares and rolled eyes shut him down. That, with the rest of the culture shift that came with suddenly being surrounded by people with way too much money and time on their hands, had done it in for him. By week three Seamus had packed up his bags and retreated to the safety and confines of his own mind. There he could narrate and make dry comments to his hearts content and, apparently, get just as appreciated for it.

The only other person who ever found themselves hearing these remarks, of course, was James.

Not a lot of people believe it at first, that James is a year younger than Seamus. Depending on the length of his hair and whether or not he’s wearing for glasses, Seamus has been told he could pass for fourteen if he wanted to. James doesn’t look that much older, but his personality makes up for anything he lacks and it’s hard to believe that anyone calls him younger brother.

All the same, sophomore and junior classes rarely interact unless someone is a grade behind on their work, and for as much as Seamus despises the education system, he at least plays by its rules. His grades are acceptable, his records aren’t marred by particularly rebellious choices of yesteryear. If he’s lucky, he sees James maybe twice between classes before the two separate again. Then they’ll reunite after school because it’s James, of course, who drives them home.

But March is fast opening the doors to April now, and Seamus is long, long past the point of pretending he’s not bouncing on his heels, ready to leave the education system behind. Or at least the one he’s law-bound to. Once he moves up a grade in June there’s only one short wait and a few tests to pass before he’ll be free of anything trying to tie him down.

The mere thought of it, of freedom, is strange and intangible to him, but he powers forward all the same. Only a few more months and a couple promises to a guidance counselor that he totally has a plan, and he’ll be out from under the world’s thumb for good.

Thank God.

But for now, he’s still trapped. And not only is he trapped, but he’s still in the midst of a dangerous game with a boy he never intended to see again, had Drunk Seamus only run the numbers beforehand and remembered they attended the same school.

Surprisingly though, the morning stretches on without a hitch. Seamus keeps his ears perked for any mention of the party, for his or Jordan’s names, but nothing really comes from it. Any drama stirred up by the event was far removed from Seamus’ involvement, and the most he hears about Jordan was the very fact that he was there- the audacity.

Seamus spends the entirety of his morning classes waiting for the other shoe to drop and for James to text him, warning him of a firestorm heading this way about what he did to Jordan Matthewson behind closed doors, but it never comes. Instead he takes some half-assed notes, makes a few cheek biting comments in the confines of his own mind, and before long he’s grabbing a brown paper bag out his locker and heading for the cafeteria.

It’s a large space, the Coby Carl cafeteria, but Seamus has come to know it well. In the previous semester he and James had ended up with the same lunch hour, A as opposed to B. Back then he’d spent his time at one end or another of the table James commandeered, surrounded by people who he hardly knew, picking up gossip about people he couldn’t care less about, and more or less left alone because James wanted him there, but didn’t talk to him.

It was ideal, and Seamus missed it when he’d been handed over to B lunch later on.

Now he has a different spot that he favors, a small table over by a window that overlooks the football field outside. In the colder months the chill from the glass had been present and left the place mostly deserted, and Seamus had set up shop. Not for any desire to be left alone, really, if anyone sat near him he’d make nice until the other person got bored, but it was quieter over there, and as far as good seating went, it was the best he could get.

He heads there now in higher spirits than he’s been in for a while. It’s strange to think that he’d actually gotten away with what he did on Saturday night, but the more the day progresses, the more he’s willing to believe. It’s to the point actually, where he’s so immersed in patting himself on the back for a job well done, that he almost doesn’t recognize Jordan sitting down in front of him until that familiar flash of red hits his periphery.

“Hey, Seamus.” Jordan says so plainly, so familiarly, that Seamus only stares. For a single second he considers the idea that he’s actually hallucinating Jordan there, but nope, he’s physical. All long legs tucked under the table, hat as red as ever, and busily working on decorating his cafeteria burger with ample amounts of mustard and ketchup.

“…Hey.” Seamus says back, for lack of anything better to say. It occurs to him that this is technically the first time he’s ever seen the boy sober.

His first instinct is to check and see how many people around them are watching. He knows they are. If the months he spent interloping at James’ table taught him anything, it was that no one is safe from scrutiny, especially not people like Jordan, the hottest of topics.

As it is, Seamus can see a few gazes flicked in his direction, most of them probably drawn in my Jordan’s telltale choice of headwear. No one stops in their tracks and stares, but he’s not about to think that no one’s noticed.

But more people will notice if Seamus sends him away.

He’s not even angry about this. Honestly he can’t find precisely the right word to nail down this strange mixture of humor and pure bafflement. After things had ended between them neither had said that they wouldn’t be in contact after this, but at the same time those were kind of the rules of one night stands. Emphasis on the ‘one night’ part.

Jordan’s going strong still. If he notices the glances being tossed his way he doesn’t so much as acknowledge them instead carrying on through.

“So that was some party Satruday, huh? I thought my headache was never gonna go away afterwards.”

Seamus just stares. How could someone not get it this badly? But Jordan’s being calm and polite, and when Seamus doesn’t answer right away his blue-green eyes flick up from his plate, curious and bright. Seamus thinks for a moment, decidedly running his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

Jordan Matthewson tried to eat lunch with James Wilson’s brother today, and he wouldn’t even talk to him. (No, I didn’t know he had a brother either.)

Jordan Matthewson and James Wilson’s brother had lunch together today, I didn’t know they knew each other. (No, it is his brother. I wasn’t sure either but Steven knows him.)

“Actually, I don’t get hangovers that often. And I’ll make the Irish joke here so you don’t have to.”

Visibly in front of him, Jordan relaxes. Seamus hadn’t been aware that his shoulders had been so tense, that his fingers had been so nervous, until they no longer were. Seamus guesses he’s much the same, slowly and carefully unwrapping the last of his lunch and digging in carefully.

“That’s lucky.” Jordan says. “So did you hear about the Dark Souls II DLC they announced? It looks pretty darn cool, I think.”

“Oh yeah,” Seamus responds automatically. They’d discussed this for a bit at the party, and any thread of conversation he can grab right now is a godsend. “I’m on an e-mail list for that kinda stuff so I hear about it first thing. My problem with it though is,” 

And just like that they’re back at saturday night, coolly discussing video games and not paying attention to the world that spins around them. Their discussion lasts well up until the final warning bell, and by the time they walk with matching strides towards the trash cans, neither notice any leftover, lingering stares on their backs.

//

“So he just came up to you out of nowhere? Are you sure you didn’t wave him over or something, on accident?”

“Did I not notice myself waving him over and giving him permission to sit with me. Is this what you’re asking.”

“I don’t know Seamus, it just seems so weird that he’d come up to you like that.”

“Yeah, no shit!”

From the driver’s side of the car James barks a laugh, shaking his head as he steers out of the school parking lot. Under him, The Baby gives an angry whine as its weight shifts on the cold thawing ground. The tires will need changing soon, no doubt.

Seamus does not have a doubt in his mind that his brother cares more for this dented little car than he does, or maybe ever will, care for Seamus. An angry heap of scrap metal that someone had run into the ground during the late nineties, it’s nothing special to behold. The muffler’s on its way out the door so it always makes a good racket as soon as the engine turns over, that is, on the days it decides to. It guzzles gas like it’s got a personal vendetta against the earth and only on certain days does it allow either –either- the radio or the heat to work.

James had started saving for it around the tail end of being fourteen, and right up until his sixteenth birthday. Like a worried mother he’d call in on the guy who’d agreed to sell it to him often, always making sure it was still up for grabs and still running. By the time James’ sixteenth came around he’d pinched enough pennies and called in enough favors to drive The Baby right out of the lot, and since then he hasn’t looked back.

Seamus doesn’t so much care for the car, it’s louder than any vehicle has a right to be and the smell that came etched in the old fabric seats never really faded out. But it’s transportation. It’s better than a bus or the family SUV (If only by virtue of not having to own up to a parent if something happens to it,) and James drives it like a king commanding a chariot. Mostly, Seamus doesn’t have to bum a ride from his parents to school anymore, and so he says nothing.

The Baby bumps and grumbles the pair down the road just outside of the school as Seamus recounts the events of earlier today to his brother. It’s his first chance to tell anyone what happened hours ago, and because of this he’s had too much time to think it over in his head. In the end, most of it comes out overanalyzed and too rationalized to show off just how weird it was.

Though the phrase “The guy I had a one-night-stand with wanted to eat lunch with me today.” does pretty well on its own.

Seamus had hardly been in the door before he’d dropped the news, and for a second James had only laughed like he’d thought Seamus was joking. When Seamus had insisted no, really, he was telling the truth, he’d watched his brother’s eyebrows raise until he was purely shocked, asking, “You’re not fucking with me?”

Seamus had filled him in as best he could, starting off with how Jordan had plopped right in front of him and elaborating until the point in the story where he hadn’t turned him away. It felt weird, describing it to his brother like he was doing Jordan a service by eating with him, but in a way Seamus supposed he was. It’s no secret that most of Jordan’s old friends avoid him now, and if Seamus had refused to talk to him then where else would he have gone?

“Doesn’t make it any less weird.” James had asserted then. Seamus didn’t disagree.

“So, did he bring up the party at all? Anything about how you,” James makes a jerking motion in front of his groin, classy, before putting his hand back on the wheel. If Seamus had been baffled by Jordan’s showing up earlier, than James is double that. His voice is wound tight with confusion as Seamus shrugs.

“Sort of, I guess? Though I think it was only to remind me that we’d both been there, like he was worried I’d have forgotten him. Other than that we mostly just talked about video games. It was like the,” Seamus pauses, choosing his words. “The other part never happened.”

Honestly there’d only been one point during the conversation in which he’d even remembered that he’d given his conversation partner a handjob, and that was only when the strangeness of it all hit him at once. With the way they acted and for as much as they discussed it, Seamus was almost willing to believe that he’d made up the latter half of their night.

But he hadn’t, of course. The memories were too awkward, to tactile for his drunken brain to cook up. The pair of snakebite sized birthmarks he so clearly remembered on Jordan’s hip weren’t the product of an overactive imagination.

“So he just wanted to talk. Hang out.” James says.

Seamus shrugs. “I guess.”

“So are you two friends now? Does he think you’re friends?”

The word comes right out of left field and Seamus squints at it, wrinkles his nose.

 “Nah, we’re not friends.” He states matter-of-factly. Seamus has a very tight grip on who is and is not allowed under that word, and one-night-stand plus one-afternoon-lunch Jordan Matthewson is not one of them. “I never thought I was gonna see this guy again until he started talking to me, you know.”

“Yeah, I figured, breathe.” James says, tutting. Seamus was preparing himself to launch into an entire description as to why exactly they are not friends, but James’ tone is short, he gets the point. Instead Seamus settles back, watches the houses fly by the window.

“So what are you gonna do if he comes back tomorrow?” James asks when a silence takes them. Seamus, for all that he’d dwelled on the event this afternoon, had hardly given tomorrow as much thought.

“How do you know he’ll even come back?” He says, knowing full well that the boy probably will.

“Seamus, you don’t leave free food by your back door and expect strays to not come for a meal.” James says. “If you keep giving him the time of day of course he’s gonna come back.”

“I don’t think you meant that as an innuendo, but I’m giving it to you anyway.” Seamus replies. James says nothing, trying to keep serious. “But I dunno, then I eat with him again? It’s not like it’s costing me precious social points, and he’s easier to talk to than people who try to talk to the kid sitting alone ‘cause they pity him.”

“So you like him.” James says matter-of-factly.

“Like is a strong word.”

“To who?”

“To anyone describing their feelings towards Jordan Matthewson.”

That does them in and makes James smile, cooling their weird stifled air in the car somewhat. They’re fast approaching home now and Seamus can’t get the question out of his head, what if Jordan shows up again? What if he doesn’t?

“In any case, if he is there tomorrow you gotta find out what’s going on with him.” James says as he pulls down their street. “Because you may think this is just idle chatter or whatever, but who knows what’s going on in his head. And if he is there tomorrow, I guarantee you that means he’ll be there again, and the day after. So you gotta decide if you want that, or if you don’t.”

That’s a lot to put on the plate of someone who, a week ago, had been most morally tied up about what game he was going to waste his birthday money on when the time came.

“I honestly don’t think he’ll even show up tomorrow. It was really kinda awkward today and if he was looking for something from me, I don’t think he got it.” Seamus lies, fingers fiddling with the seat-belt before James is even finished parking. Conversation with Jordan had been easy. They’d laughed. It had been a fine time. He will be back tomorrow unquestionably.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” James says with a shrug as he pulls in. Seamus spares him no more words after that, only wriggling his way out of the car and shutting the door behind him. The glass and metal that separates him from James is thick, but not so thick that Seamus doesn’t hear himself getting yelled at for not treating The Baby with more respect as he heads inside.

//

 Jordan shows up again tomorrow.

And not only does Jordan show up, but he does so with purpose. Seamus has just gotten settled into his seat, let the usual lunch fare roll out of his brown paper bag and gotten to work with loosening up the plastic, when a flurry of footsteps canters into the otherwise quieter space. Jordan’s lunch tray, a cafeteria burger, oversalted cafeteria fries, bottled water, clatters onto the faux wood table as he makes his landing.

“Hi, Jordan.” Seamus says, impressed in spite of himself. He’d spent a long portion of the morning planning out just how he was going to approach this today, but instantly he’s sidetracked by a phone being thrust under his nose.

It’s hard to hear over the din of the lunchroom, but the first thing Seamus notices about the video that’s playing is Jordan’s laughter. Honest peals of it, unlike anything he’s heard from the boy so far.

The video itself is a handheld, recorded on this very phone no doubt, and on screen a small beige striped cat erratically chases a milk bottle ring around a tiled floor. The cat jumps, pounces and wriggles around for all of thirty seconds before the ring disappears in-between what looks to be a fridge and a wall. A second after that and the cat follows suit, its little body crashing into the tight space before whirring around and taking off in the other direction. Both on screen and in front of him, Jordan laughs.

And Seamus does too. How lucky of Jordan to have found one of his weak spots, a particular penchant for cats making fools out of themselves. He gives honest approval to the video before looking up, catching the last of the sparkly happiness in Jordan’s eyes before he looks up to meet Seamus’.

“Is that your cat?” Seamus asks as Jordan tucks the phone back away. Not a minute in and his well thought out plans have fallen apart. What else is new.

“Yep.” Jordan talks with a proud grin on his face, like it’s his son out there who just hit the home run and won the big game. “That’s Tali.”

“Nice.” Seamus says. “My cat Meowgi does that sometimes, she’s a doof.”

“I think that’s a common trait between cats.” Jordan says, and before Seamus can think about steering the conversation back to whatever he’d wanted it to be, the pair are sharing cat stories like proud moms at a grocery store. Seamus gives Jordan hell for naming all three of his cats after Mass Effect characters, only to have the ground he’d gained ripped out from under him once Jordan realizes what a play on words “Meowgi” is, and Seamus only hears the end of it with the warning bell. 

After the pair dump their leftover trash in the bins nearby, Jordan separates from Seamus with a wave, saying, “See ya later.”

And Seamus, albeit automatically, says back “See ya.”

It isn’t until he’s grabbing a book from his locker and running the conversation through in his head again that it even hits him, what he’d said. And what’s stranger than that, he realizes after a moment’s pause, was that this time when he’d said it, he’d meant it.

//

“Is it that weird? I don’t think it’s that weird.”

“It’s pretty weird, dude.”

The basement of Aleks Marchant’s house never doesn’t smell like smoke.

It’s a sparse space, with soft carpet floors and high stone walls, decorated only with a few pieces of old furniture and some picture frames, long turned down to avoid making eye contact with visitors. Supposedly this place had once been purposed with being another family space like the ones upstairs, another parlor or living-room type area.

But continual months of Aleks parading his friends in through the foyer of the house above, then quickly and quietly disappearing downstairs soon after, had done away with any of that. Now Aleks refers to this place as his ‘hobby’ room, usually through a tight-lipped grin, as he fishes a tray and a small plastic bag out from underneath the couch and reminds whoever is closest to the door to check if it’s shut.

And it reeks. Apparently that had been the reason Aleks even set up shop down here. No one else comes down except to switch laundry loads, and he could inhabit this space freely and without having to worry about filling his actual room with that familiar, cloying scent. The one that currently lays heavy on Seamus’ tongue as he lies back into the corner of the sectional, huffing a sigh.

“I don’t know, you know? We just talk for a while and then it’s over. That’s not too bad.”

“Yeah, but he touched your dick though.” Aleks insists, and from where James is laying funeral-style on the long part of the sectional, he hums an agreement.

Aleks is sat cross-legged in the armchair across from Seamus, and his hands are busied with working the contours of his grinder. His gaze occasionally flicks up from where he’s concentrating, but for the most part he’s just talking to his lap, only emphasizing when he thinks Seamus needs to listen.

“It’s kinda weird for you to say I can’t be nice to someone whose dick I’ve touched.” Seamus replies, and Aleks’ hands still. A rippling laugh passes through him and he looks up at Seamus to nod.

“Fair point.”

Seamus and Aleks had met back in November, around the time Seamus was bordering the line between trying to make nice with the sea of new faces around him, or giving up on ever meeting a new person again. The boy had met James in a class they shared and the two had hit it off well, friendship forming naturally between them. For a while things were as simple as James disappearing off to Aleks’ every few nights a week, returning home later smelling strongly, strongly of cologne and smiling just a little too easily.

After a while, as all things usually happened, James extended an invitation for Seamus to tag along, and Seamus had agreed. At first he’d not known what to think of the kid who had a sense of humor as dry as his own, who talked for hours on end about the tattoos he was going to get as soon as he could, and who would string bass riffs in the basement for as long as he had company.

Then one day Aleks had been describing the hellish process it had been, getting the long end of the sectional downstairs after his family had gotten a new living room set. This was something they did about yearly, Aleks had offhandedly mentioned, and Seamus had thought to himself, “Fucking people with money and their only kids.”

Except he hadn’t thought that to himself, his clouded brain had let the words slip right through his lips and into open air.

And though the subject s to whether or not Seamus had been joking has been debated to death and thusly laid to rest, only one thing is important. An impish grin had spread across Aleks’ face then and he’d ducked his head, laughing as he’d said “You’re not wrong, dude.”

And then it wasn’t weird when James brought his brother over to smoke anymore.

How they’d gone from that, the occasional visit to Aleks’ house, trading jokes and stories in the safety of the basement, to carefully sneaking around behind James’ back in order to have quick, messy rendezvous sessions, remains a blur in Seamus’ mind. Honestly all he even wants to remember of that time was the fact that it had kicked up sometime after they’d met, but by that Valentines day it was over, dead and buried.

Now the only time they so much as speak of it is when one of them brings it up to watch James flinch at the words, ever bitter at the unlikely and unwilling matchmaker he’d become back then. 

But Seamus likes Aleks. Out of all the friends James has made since moving here, Aleks is the easiest to get along with, and is definitely the only one Seamus feels comfortable talking with about his messy drama. And above all else, Aleks’ basement is a safe space. Nothing admitted here will escape the stone walls, and that’s why Seamus doesn’t mind recessing deeper into the softness of the couch as he sighs, “I don’t know. It’s just lunch and he needs someone to talk to. It could be weirder.”

“I think of it as a service to the public.” James pipes up. “You’re doing good deeds, sewing into good karma and all that shit.”

“I’m not doing it to be nice though.” Seamus counters. “I’m doing it because…we get along, I guess.”

“Okay, here’s what I think.” Aleks declares, stopping conversation dead. “So like, forget it’s Jordan that this is about. Yeah, everyone knows he’s bi now and it’s weird and everyone talks about it, that’s irrelevant.”

Seamus is led to disagree, but he lets Aleks continue.

“What I don’t get is that you meet this guy, right, and you two hit it off. You do your shit together and part ways. Then the next time he sees you he tries to talk like none of the nasty stuff ever happened, but he still wants to hang with you. That’s what’s making this weird.”

“Okay.” Seamus says after some thought.

“So you gotta find out what his deal is, I guess is what I’m saying. It’s gonna keep being weird if neither of you bring up the elephant in the room. It happened. Talk about it.”

“Sure, I’m just gonna bring that up in the middle of lunch.” Seamus snarks. “Great mealtime conversation.”

“Do you see him outside of the cafeteria?”

“No, he’s a grade under me.”

“Then yeah dude, bring it up. You sit like a hermit in there anyway, no one’s gonna listen.”

“He’s got a point, Seamus.” James says, and Seamus resorts to flipping off the peanut gallery, who hums an expletive in response.

“If he wants to be chummy with you, dude, then make sure he knows the parameters. Right now you don’t know if he’s like, trying to build bridges or get into your pants again, so figure that out first and go from there.”

Once again, a lot to take in. Even if Seamus weren’t suspended somewhere between rationality and the fog of his thoughts, it would be hard to hear and digest. Aleks isn’t wrong and he’s making good points, but the things he’s suggesting aren’t as easy as he makes them seem.

Seamus breathes out a long slow breath, closing his eyes at the sound of a lighter being flicked to life across the room.

“I’ll think about it.” He says softly, if only to make the conversation end. His head is too heavy now, to entertain these thoughts of Jordan and elephants.

//

But Aleks had been right, of course.

Technically, Jordan wasn’t the only one who was pointedly not bringing up the weirdness between them, Seamus was also completely at fault. And the more he tosses the things he wants to ask around in his mind, the more he recognizes why Jordan hasn’t brought it up either. It’s weird as hell.

But he’ll persevere though. Jordan’s company during lunch is by no means something he wants to fight for, but it is nice. Which feels strange to admit, really, so plainly to himself, but it’s true. It’s nice to have someone to talk to and who makes the longer minutes go quick.

Now all he has to do is clear the weird air between them, approach it rationally and calmly, and he’ll be set.

The next day at lunch Jordan plops down in front of him with the usual amount of gusto, sparing a hey as he arranges his food around on his tray. Seamus tosses back a similar hello and takes in a breath, pausing to think of all the good conversation starters he’d planned this morning. His eyes do a quick sweep around him to make sure no one’s paying attention to them, then he folds his fingers into a steeple in front of him and says, “So we hooked up at that party, right?”

For a moment all the worrying and second-guessing becomes worth it, as Jordan’s usual friendly smile freezes, goes plastic on his face. His expression of barely shielded terror shouldn’t be funny, but Seamus swallows the smile that tries for his lips. Jordan’s head turns slowly, just as Seamus’ had done, to make sure no one is outright staring at them after the question, and his voice is so small when he replies.

“Uh. Uhm yeah. Yeah.”

Seamus carries on, businesslike in manor. “And you knew that was a one time thing, right? Like, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah.” Jordan says again, his vocabulary narrowing by the second.

There are two things Seamus wants to say then, but only one of them makes it to his lips. ‘Then why are you talking to me?’ stays curled tight in his throat as he shrugs then, asking “So you also know that this doesn’t mean anything. Good. Okay.”

He’d be content to let matters die there, but of course they don’t. Jordan takes a couple of seconds to thaw and secure his hat tighter around his ears before he moves in, ducking his head so others can’t hear him speak.

“Wait a second.” He says. “You didn’t think I was hanging out with you here because I thought we were…together?”

“What?” Seamus responds. “God, no."

The sureness of his voice gives Jordan a chance to smile, and the tension ebbs carefully out from below Seamus’ fingernails.

“But you do have to admit it’s kind of weird, right? The last time I saw you, you were buckling your belt. Then you just show up all friendly, like none of that stuff even happened.”

“Well, that’s what I assumed you wanted.” Jordan says. He gives Seamus a kind of ‘come on, man’ look, and Seamus tries not to seem impressed. “I came over to you because I thought we hit it off at the party, and you had good things to say. I mean, yeah, we also did…other stuff, but that’s not why I like you. You’re just nice to be around.”

That’s a new one. For a second Seamus doesn’t even know how to respond to that, but his brain turns over soon enough. He takes a moment to straighten up and pluck a fry from Jordan’s lunch in front of him, then nod slowly.

“Okay, so we’re on the same page.”

“I think it’s safe to say we are.” Jordan says, nodding sagely.

Then the sheer amount of salt on the fry in his mouth sinks into Seamus’ tongue and he pulls a face, taking fast drinks from the water in his lunch. The moment good and ruined, Seamus scowls at Jordan from where he tries not to laugh at him across the table.

“Shut up.” He grumbles, swirling water around in his mouth, well aware that Jordan hadn’t said a thing.

// 

“So you’re friends now?” James asks in the car later that day. Seamus shakes his head, the word feeling strange and malformed when applied to whatever the hell it is that keeps him and Jordan familiar.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He says decisively. “I’d say acquaintances, at best.”

“Acquaintances.” James mimics. He gives a sad chuckle and sticks the key in the ignition,  letting the car growl and hum to life.

“Whatever you say, man.” He says. “Whatever you say."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i'd actually written this entire part out, and then somehow managed to delete almost all of it. Which lead to me rewriting literally 5000 words of it. fun times. good times. why god


	3. Chapter 3

Jordan Matthewson is an interesting creature.

In the week and a half following their agreement, Jordan shows up in top form every day, each one in new and varying levels of excitement.

 Some of those days are calm, for example. In which nothing particularly exciting happened the night before. Their lives and the happenings of the internet leave them without much to discuss, and so the two chew in silence instead. Those are the days where they’re content to enjoy each other’s company and little else.

It’s during these times that Seamus becomes aware that whatever paranoia had haunted him before, those spooky scary whispers from onlookers all around, had been for the most part unwarranted. Jordan is still an item of gossip around the school, true, but when he’s not out publically drinking or making out with straight boys in locker rooms, he’s not that interesting to the world at large.

Right now, Seamus can’t imagine something he enjoys more than the fact that he remains uninteresting to the world around him.

Seamus likes those calm lunch days. They mirror his old life before Jordan had shown up, but are now improved by the presence of a too-tall sophomore with a penchant for cats and who laughs at Seamus’ jokes.

What Seamus likes more though, he soon finds out, are the days where Jordan is wound up.

Those days are evident from the beginning. Jordan usually gets to the table first, and the air is punctuated with the sound of a squeaky hinge that bounces with the boy’s shaking leg. Seamus, always sparing him no mercy, grits his teeth and tells Jordan to stop making a racket once he arrives. Jordan always jumps to attention, excited as he’ll ever been to see him.

“Seamus!” he’ll say, completely ignoring the first thing the boy had told him in favor of steamrolling onward. “You’ll get a kick out of this, I bet.” Or sometimes it’s, “Please tell me if this is as bad as I think it is.”

From there on he’ll launch in to any number of stories. Occasionally it’s a retelling of something that had happened in real life, something as interesting as the grocery store not stocking the brand of oatmeal he’d been buying for years and him being personally offended by it. Usually though, and more lately than ever, it’s more attuned to wincing about the amount of side-money he’d spent on Steam the night before. How he’d gotten this close,  _this_  close, Seamus, to the gun he’d wanted in CSGo, and how he’d gotten a NGEV instead.

Those days are always interesting; Seamus biting back laughs and scoffs as Jordan gets into the nitty-gritty of his issues. Seamus pitches in for conversation as well, but nine times out of ten it’s a less enthused soliloquy about how he’d either gotten fucked over in Dark Souls or Smite.

All the same, Jordan pays just as much attention as he would if Seamus was saying something worth his time, and Seamus appreciates that.

And it was during one of Jordan’s stories about his personal experience supplementing Gabe Newell’s monthly checks with ones made out of his tears, that Seamus had learned one of his first favorite things about Jordan.

“It was so  _stupid_ , Seamus!” Jordan barks through a barely contained rage, doing just enough not to draw in the eyes of those around them. “I was on my last case of the  _stupid_  night and I watched the  _stupid_ knife fly right by me, that would have been a three-hundred dollar minimum, Seamus! It was so stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Jordan’s honest anger had only made Seamus bite down harder on his tongue, watching him boil over as he continued.

“Then of course I go on Youtube to see it in action, the knife I  _should_  have gotten, and there some jerk is, getting it on his first roll! His first. Roll.”

“What an asshole.” Seamus had tossed in sardonically, just to fuel the flame.

“Jerk.” Jordan had huffed, letting his forehead fall on to his crossed arms and huffing a sigh. “Stupid Jerk.”

Jordan Matthewson doesn’t swear.

Seamus might have heard this in an idle piece of gossip before, but seeing it in action was a whole different experience. At first he hadn’t picked up on it at all, as the words were so far from Jordan’s lexicon that there was never a time when he sounded like he was trying not to do so. The words just weren’t there, like French wasn’t something Seamus would ever think to include in conversation.

But as he’d listen to Jordan go through a tirade of ‘jerks’ and ‘stupids’ and more than the occasional ‘brown’ (?) Seamus had realized that there were some definite word buffers missing. And once he noticed, he couldn’t stop. Until finally one day when he’d asked Jordan about it, mid-breakdown about one of his damn (darn,) cases.

“Why is it you never swear?” He’d asked. Jordan had looked at him for a second, almost confused, before shrugging.

“I dunno. My parents raised me not to, I guess?”

“My parents raised me not to do a lot of things.” Seamus responded. “Never let that stop me.”

Jordan had smiled, ducking his head, embarassed.

“It’s just not something that occurs to me, I guess.” He said.

“But ‘Dern Sure’, that does.” (Dern Sure had shown up two days ago in a haggard expulsion and had really sent the swear train downhill.  Seamus needed answers.)

“I guess? It works, doesn’t it?”

“It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t work.”

Hard to argue with him there.

So, Jordan didn’t swear. It was definitely not by any moral code that Seamus could begin to understand but at the very least he didn’t question it. Instead he learned to enjoy the little moments in Jordan’s speech patterns where he’d be grasping for the perfect word, a place where a ‘fuck’ could slide in so nicely, only to find some lighter, airier buffer tossed in. It made him laugh.

Another thing Seamus learned, though it seemed to go against everything he’d known about the boy so far, was that he was pretty smart. Even thinking that sentence to himself had felt wrong, considering he’d spent a large chunk of one of their lunch periods going “You’re an idiot, Jordan.” And Jordan rebuffing him only with “Seamus, please.”

But it was true. His grades were decent, better than Seamus’ anyway, and the boy could work casually into conversation that most of the gaming he did online was on the computer he’d constructed himself, a fact that had stopped Seamus cold.

“It’s not like I built it out of gum and paper clips.” Jordan had shrugged as Seamus pestered him for details. “I just ordered the parts separately and put them together. That way you know what you’re getting, you know?”

“Jordan, there’s a desk in my room that stands on two textbooks because my stepdad, and James, and myself could not put it together right. And you built a piece of functioning technology.”

That had made him puff up a little more with confidence, and Seamus wondered how long he’d been waiting for someone to give his ego a fresh stroke. Ah well, he’d earned it. This once.

“Oh, I can put together furniture, too.” Jordan had added on, instantly ruining on the ground Seamus was willing to give him. “That’s way easier actually, I’m good with hammers.”

Seamus had wanted to hit him. Hadn’t, but the desire was there.

So Jordan was good with his hands. Strange really, considering the boy moved with an awkward gait that suggested puberty had hit him like a freight train, and that he was still getting used to his own mile-long legs. It did not seem to Seamus that someone who could readily and properly at the drop of a hat move their arms in perfect ragdoll fashion could also flawlessly build an Ikea table, but Jordan was turning out to a wealth spring of surprises.

But easily the most surprising and jarring fact of all that Seamus learned about Jordan was that he liked him.

A week and a half ago when they’d settled into their arrangement, Seamus had expected things to go okay, but never this well. Maybe some light banter to make the half-hour of lunch go faster, not for their daily meetings to become the highlight of his mandatory school hours. But that’s just what it became, until Seamus had to stop rehashing Jordan’s stories or reactions to James in the car after school, because the telling grin on his face would become too much to handle.

They got along. Jordan finally found someone who he could talk to, and Seamus finally  _finally_  got his hands on a person who could listen to things like “I hate you, Jordan.” Or “No, that’s terrible, you’re terrible.” and  _laugh_. As hard as it was to admit, he’d missed that.

But with any good thing, as Seamus would gladly say, comes the bad.

Even with all of the increasing fondness Seamus found himself accumulating for Jordan, time still came with the liability of him keeping the pair in check. Sometimes it was pointedly not laughing at a joke about something that made Seamus’ stomach turn. Other times Jordan might try to make a joke about the party where they met and Seamus would have to tut, nope, we’re not there yet.

But by far the worst and most inevitable was that if Jordan was raving and going off about CSGo or something along those lines, his rant might be punctuated with an invitation to drag Seamus along, begging him to come over to his house so he could roll with some Irish luck.

Similarly, talk about his assembled computer ended that day with another invite, this time to show Seamus how it was put together, just how it was an easy-enough process of putting A into B and so on.

Even Seamus’ wonky desk, which he’d long forgotten was even a thing, came with the offer of Jordan coming down to look at it and see if there was anything he could do to help.

“A lot of the time it’s just a wrong screw and a hammer away, really.” Jordan had told him, and Seamus had let the salt and vinegar on his chip linger long, long on his tongue before swallowing hard, shaking his head and telling Jordan no thanks, he was good.

If Jordan noticed that every suggestion made that ended in them together outside of school was met with instant rejection, he didn’t voice it. Instead he would nod and roll with it instead, shrugging and occasionally throwing in an “Okay, another time then.” If he was feeling gutsy.

And Seamus, much the same, would nod along wordlessly.

It had started feeling terrible though, the more negations he handed out. There was no clean or concise way to explain to Jordan why Seamus didn’t want to see him outside of school, and that made it more frustrating than anything. How could he tell someone whom he genuinely liked that it just…wouldn’t work?

“Just get over yourself.” Was James’ never asked for advice, often offered as Seamus leaned over their sink late at night, brushing his teeth or examining the bags under his eyes. “You know the whole ‘acquaintances’ thing was bullshit from the beginning, now bite the bullet. You have a friend, is that so bad?”

But Seamus didn’t want a friend. He didn’t want someone who had ties to him like that. Outside of James, who offered him more than enough outside-school company he needed, and the occasional visit to Aleks, (There, someone not tied to him by familial law,) Seamus was content in having things the way they were. Ever since they’d moved to this town last summer he’d been operating this way, and uprooting all of that now felt…

Well, it didn’t feel wrong exactly, but jarring at the very least. It would be strange to suddenly jumpstart having a life again, one that wasn’t dictated by James dragging him out to parties or inviting him along to movie trips.

But he couldn’t tell this to anyone of course, so instead he kept up the same shtick that he’d invented back in September.

“Things are fine the way they are, why would I want to change that?” He’d ask, spitting into the sink and contemplating the necessity of a haircut. Often he’d hear James hit the springs of his mattress before he’d see it.

“You’ll come around to it eventually.” James would say, though this was more an admission of defeat than any self-encouragement. Seamus, to make the conversation end, would agree with his brother before shutting the door on him, finishing up his nightly routine and crawling into bed, trying not to think about the things his brother had said.

He hated arguing with himself like this. Truth be told, it was a habit he’d been hoping to kick the year before, choosing to rely instead only on what the easier, more comfortable option was. So far that strategy had gotten him through eight months and one failed relationship without fault. But now nothing was easy and certainly _nothing_ was comfortable.

Sunday night Seamus sits in bed, trying to sleep. The fact that this ordeal had intervened with his sleeping pattern is annoying. This whole situation is annoying. By now his gut and very being are telling him just to let go, to see where the pieces fall and go from there. But the idea of not having a hand on the way things steer from here on out is unthinkable as well.

By the time he falls asleep no answers have found him. Instead Jordan chases him into dreams, and Seamus feels cornered, even there.

//

“Seamus, Seamus!”

Oh no.

To say Seamus woke up in a bad mood that morning would be like saying he’d woken up from sleeping, a redundant and unneeded fixture. Seamus wakes up pretty much every day the same, a little annoyed at the world that’s driven him out of his bed, and carefully testing the waters to see what kind of day it will be. If he makes it to the bathroom before James, then finds the clean clothes he wants, and later reaches towards a carton of milk that’s neither empty nor expired, the day holds promise.

If he finds the bathroom used, his favorite hoodie still on the floor after not landing in the hamper, and finds himself staring at a quarter inch of milk on the bottom of the jug, then it’s a safe bet that his mood will not improve until the following sunrise.

This morning starts off rough by bogging him down with thoughts of Jordan right off the bat, the way he supposes finals or job interviews do other people with real problems. Even as he smugly locks both bathroom doors before James can get in, and revels with quiet delight at the boy’s distressed yells for him to hurry up, his mood refuses to lift. Spring is circling Colorado now and so he dresses lightly under the fabric of his clean hoodie, and downstairs there’s a fresh bottle of 2% in the fridge.

By all accounts things should be going great, but Seamus can’t break through the fog.

He won’t put mental stock into this. He won’t let it get to him. They’d already agreed to being… whatever it is they are, knowing full well it’s not anything else. Jordan had agreed. He had.

This is what Seamus tells himself while the world passes him by. Outside it’s cool but not chilly, the air smells like rain but it’s too soon to tell if there will be a downpour today. He hopes so, he could really use one.

School presents itself as a blessing and a distraction then, as Seamus focuses on his class work more than he has, though the constant ticking of the clocks on the wall do more than well enough to get on his nerves.

The final minutes before the lunch bell are spent with fingers crossed that it’s a low-key day where Jordan won’t push any of his buttons. Those don’t happen as frequently as his excited days, but there is always hope.

Unfortunately, from the second Seamus steps foot into the overcrowded cafeteria, he knows it’s going to be one of  _those_  days. Ten feet in and already he can hear the clanging of the table, and if he squints through his glasses he can see Jordan at the end of the room, red hat and a big smile waiting for him. On any other day this would be good news, maybe the best news. As Seamus rounds the sea of students and gets closer, he’s well aware that he should be getting excited for whatever Jordan’s about to drop on his lap. Instead he’s dreading it.

It’s not Jordan’s fault, Seamus knows, for being excited and a generally happy person. That doesn’t stop him at all from faulting the boy for it of course, but still. By the time Seamus reaches him Jordan is nigh vibrating with cheer, which is a bit more than he would be prepared for regularly, let alone stretched as thin as he is.

“Did you get it?” Jordan is cooing before Seamus can even properly tell him to calm down.

Whether out of shot nerves or the vindictive desire to watch Jordan rile himself up further, Seamus moves with deliberate carefulness. He slowly gets settled in on the bench and lets his lunch fall out of the bag. Jordan watches him wide-eye’d the whole time. Finally the boy’s knee stops banging the table and Seamus asks, “Huh?”

“Did you get a Cupid code?”

Cupid, out of all the gods Seamus wants to hear about today, is very near the bottom of the list. But a Cupid _code_ sounds a lot like it could have to do with Seamus’ favorite game, and current shareholder of the family computer’s use and time, Smite. Seamus’ thoughts clear somewhat from the muddled conflict they’d been all day and instead he turns to Jordan, eyebrow perking.

“No, what codes?”

Jordan frowns instantly. “Some game devs were giving out the new Cupid skins on twitter last night. I didn’t get one because I don’t really play him much, but he’s your favorite, right?”

“What!” Seamus says. “When were they doing this? Aww.”

He keeps it to himself that last night had been spent equally at Aleks’ house and in his own head, with very little space to check his nigh-inactive twitter account in-between.

“For like a couple of hours, man! Aw, I really thought you were gonna get one too, that would have been awesome.”

“Yeah, it would have!” Seamus huffs. He’s opposed to everything, absolutely everything, but the hypothetical situation of teaming up with Jordan for a couple rounds isn’t the worst thing that’s ever crossed his mind. “That sucks, Cupid’s awesome.”

“Eh.” Jordan says, and Seamus fixes him with a glare.

“I wish I could have told you.” Jordan says after that, and all to fast Seamus feels his skin start to prick. He huffs, leaning back and unwrapping his sandwich from its plastic, fast searching for a topic to change to. This is something Jordan’s brought up a couple times in varying degrees of serious, but Seamus knows instantly that today’s lunch gonna be rough.

  
“Yeah.” He says dryly. “That’s too bad.”

Before he can even go further, Jordan’s wriggling a hand around in his jeans pocket and fishing out his phone, sliding it across the table nonthreateningly, nodding at Seamus as he does so.

“Here,” he says, “Put in your number so I can reach you next time it happens. Or something as important as that, I guess.”

Fuck.

He can’t jut say no right away, because then Jordan will ask why, and then Seamus will have to admit he doesn’t have a reason.

He also can’t make himself grab the phone either, as he feels the carefully drawn boundary lines he’d tried to draw get trampled over completely.

_Fuck._

“Uh, I don’t really text all that much.” Seamus says warily, thinking fast to try and find a way to kill the conversation quick. The phone sits in front of him like a challenge and Seamus swallows the urge to push it back up, to shove it back into Jordan’s hands.

“Oh that’s okay, me neither.” Jordan says, and immediately Seamus knows it’s a challenge. For a while he’s been wondering how much Jordan has noticed of his aloofness, and now he feels he’s about to find out.

“No, I mean. Our texting plan is kinda shitty, and I really only talk to James or my parents when I need a ride. Pretty much no one else even has my number.”

He’s floundering. And what’s worse, Jordan’s got him locked in a gaze that’s challenging him, letting Seamus know that he won’t be backing down. Of all the hills Jordan chooses to die on, getting Seamus’ number had to be it.

He could fight more. Hell, he could get up right now and walk away. People would see, yeah, but it would at least put an end to this frankly terrible conversation happening. Seamus won’t though. He’s cornered, but he’s not cruel.

“I’ll only reach out to you if something big happens.” Jordan rationalizes, and Seamus feels his resolve crumbling. Maybe if he can agree to never actually let Jordan talk to him, giving out his number won’t really count at all. “I’ll keep it strictly business.”

It’s at this point Seamus feels the weighted presence of James on his shoulder; he can almost see the boy’s unimpressed face. ‘Just get it over with, Seamus.’ He hears his internal brother tell him, and when he gives up a defeated sigh a second later, Jordan smiles wide.

“Gimme that thing.” He huffs, swiping it off the table and opening up the lock screen. It is, of course, a cat dressed in a mech suit, Seamus wouldn’t assume any different. He scrolls until he gets to Jordan’s address book and types in his number, fast and coarsely. For a moment it runs through his mind just to give him a fake number, a 555 like in the movies.

But he ignores it, ignores a lot of the things he’s feeling really, and smacks the numbers into the pad, then hits save. When a gray, nondescript face sits next to the name he’d typed in, ‘SHAYMUS’, the boy turns the camera to take a picture of his foot, outstretched from under the lunch table.

Jordan stares, concerned.

“It’s my angle.” Seamus clarifies, then tosses the phone back between them.

“There.” He says, like the past thirty seconds of his life were some huge chore. “But only if it’s important, alright?”

“Right!” Jordan says, smiling as he picks his phone back up. He looks absolutely giddy as he moves straight to the text app on his screen, and a second later Seamus’ own phone buzzes in his pocket.

Seamus can’t will himself to say anything, only digs out his phone and hits the power button.

(Unknown Number)

-       meow :~)

He looks back up at him.

“I hate you, Jordan.” Seamus says. Jordan only smiles smugly, tucking his phone away and opening his bottle of water, looking pleased with himself, like the cat who got the cream.

//

“You’re breaking.” James teases later that night, talking to Seamus through their shared open doors. “You actually like him  _and_ you’re getting over yourself. I’m proud of you, Seamus. What are we gonna do with all that prowess, though? There’s not enough room for it in the house.”

“Fuck off.” Seamus says, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. He hadn’t even wanted to tell James what had happened, but apparently he’d been cross and irritable, more so than usual, from the second he’d gotten into the car after school. He’d broken the news through tense teeth and James had only looked at him for a second, then broken out into a harsh laugh.

“Everything has to be an uphill battle with you these days, doesn’t it?” He’d asked.

Now Seamus’ phone sits abandoned on the desk opposite the bed in his room, face turned down. He’d not gotten anything from Jordan since his text during lunch, but the object still feels ominous to have. It haunts Seamus’ pocket when he keeps it there, but not having the familiar weight of it in his jeans is strange as well.

“This whole thing is a mess.” Seamus sighs, plopping down on his bed. James laughs. “I should have just told him to fuck off when I had the chance.”

“Well you’re in too deep now, man.” James says from his room. “And really, no matter what you think, this isn’t the end of the world. Some people exchange numbers without having existential crises about it, actually. I like to think you’ll get there some day.”

Seamus doesn’t muster a reply, only gets up to shut the door on his side of the bedroom. James can surely talk more and louder if he feels he’s got anything else that Seamus needs to hear, but he doesn’t. And Seamus leaves the matter to die there, not touching his phone again until he plugs it into the wall before bed.

//

Jordan stays true to his word; Seamus’ phone doesn’t make a peep for the rest of the night, nor any day after. It’s kind of strange, really, the idea that Jordan is out there with the option to reach out to Seamus, but is tasked with deciding what constitutes ‘business’ enough to make the call.

Seamus much would have preferred not giving the number out at all, not putting either of them in that weird limbo, but what’s done is done. They both pointedly avoid discussing it the day after, and before long the matter is good as forgotten.

And Seamus is happy. Despite loosening up the reigns somewhat, nothing has come crashing down on him yet, and Jordan no longer needs to push him and see what he can get away with anymore vis a vis their friendship. It was a tough choice, Seamus decides, but ultimately worth it.

He’d honestly, really thought that was the end of it. A fool’s move, in retrospect.

Another lunch session begins as normal, Seamus pleased to have an item of interest that Jordan will have the means to care about today. Jordan’s looking well as he sits down, and Seamus makes his rare first move to get the conversation flowing.

“So,” He says, leaning forward and pushing up his glasses. “The vet thinks Meowgi has asthma.”

Albeit, not a  _happy_  item of interest.

Jordan’s face falls instantly. He’s heard a lot about Meowgi over time, Seamus has unwittingly collected an album of photos of her on his phone just to show off. Seamus had more been interested in recanting what had happened while they’d been at the vet, he and Meowgi, but he fast realizes he has to put Jordan at ease first.

“Oh  _no_ ,” The boy says, genuine concern behind his words. “What happened?”

“She’s been coughing and stuff all over the place, so I finally had to take her down to see a doctor about it. James doesn’t let me drive his hunk of junk so I had to take my parents’ embarrassing-ass car. She’s fine, they say it’s the spring and all the hot and cold air, but isn’t that weird? I didn’t even know cats could get asthma.”

Jordan nods. “Cat’s will surprise you every time, I’m telling ya. Good thing she’s okay though.”

“Yep.” Seamus says. “But she was a little demon on the way there, I think she thought she was going to get fixed again. She cried the entire time she was in the carrier and tried to claw one of the doctor’s faces off. Little jerk.”

This was supposed to be where the story started. Where Seamus gave a full rundown of the French Bulldog puppy Meowgi had harassed from her crate the day before, and the old woman that had told him off. It had made for a great story, even if it sucked at the time. Seamus couldn’t wait to tell Jordan about it.

Instead, the next words that come out of Jordan’s mouth are: “You should have told me, Seamus! I could have come along and helped you with her, I have so much experience with car-shy cats.” And the color flickers from Seamus’ world.

Of course the stupid phone thing wasn’t the end of it. Of course that wasn’t where the line was drawn. The realization that if Seamus wants Jordan to get the point he’s trying to make, that he’ll literally have to spell it out for him, hits Seamus cold.

He bites his tongue and nods, looking directly down at his food. He says next, “Uh, nah. It was fine. We managed pretty okay.”

Maybe if he just says no enough, Jordan will get tired of him and stop asking. It’s the least he can hope for.

“Did I do something wrong, Seamus?” Jordan asks, and Seamus’ hands twitch for fists under the table.

Of course his first thought is that Jordan is referring to here, now, within the few minutes that they’ve been talking. He’s fast to say no, to even look confused at what Jordan’s asking.

“No, of course not.” Seamus says. “You haven’t even done anything.”

Jordan starts rolling the apple that comes with his lunch between his palms. His next words are light, tense, as he speaks them.

“No, that’s not. Not here, I mean. Did I make you mad, some way? Or do you not like me, because you can tell me if that’s the case, you know.”

“Where is  _this_  coming from?” Seamus asks, feigning ignorance. Like he hasn’t felt the tide coming in for weeks, like this question hasn’t been poised on Jordan’s lips for just as long. “You didn’t do anything, you’re fine.”

“Then why don’t you-“ Jordan starts. Then he stops, Seamus watches his teeth try the skin of his bottom lip. “Every time I try and see you outside of this room you shrug me off. Even getting your phone number was like pulling teeth. Maybe I’m wrong here and we’re not friends, maybe I’m overstepping some boundaries, but you have to tell me, man. What did I do wrong?”

He sounds so hurt. Like these thoughts he’s speaking are anything but new, and like it pains him to say each one of them. Seamus realizes then, for as much as he’s been skirting around what Jordan had been trying to do, Jordan had been equally as afraid to ask why.

Which just makes everything suck that much more. Seamus doesn’t even know how to put words to it all, every response is just a heavy yanking knot in his stomach. But he can’t continue to let Jordan think this way, even if he’s feeling much the same. He does have weird boundaries, he’s nervous to call them friends. But none of that is Jordan’s fault and he can’t let him think that.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Seamus starts. “Don’t you think I’d have told you if you did?”

The barest smile cracks on Jordan’s lips. Hardly relief, but a start.

“But God, Jordan, you don’t. You. Okay, there’s a reason I was alone up until this point, you know?”

“Because your step brother isn’t around.” Jordan tries tepidly.

“Well there’s that.” Seamus says. “But it’s also more than that. I don’t know how to explain it but it just. I haven’t really done the whole ‘friends’ thing this year, on purpose I mean, and It’s nothing against you, really, you’re fine but.”

Seamus knows he’s not making sense. There are stronger, more concise things he could be saying that would have Jordan kissing his toes in pity, but that’s not what he fucking wants. Fuck,  _he_  doesn’t know what he fucking wants.

“Seamus,” Jordan says in the midst of the other boy trying to piece together a sentence. Seamus looks up once he hears the boy’s tone, sharp and serious. “Did you know you’re the only person who treats me like a human in this school?”

A cold shiver runs under Seamus’ skin once he realizes what Jordan is saying. They’ve talked about a lot of things between them, very few subjects are beyond their approach, but this one is different. Seamus has never brought up the outing to Jordan and Jordan, of course, has never spoken about it either.

“Jordan, you don’t have to-“

“No, you should know this.” Jordan says, and Seamus backs down. Around them the cafeteria hums, unaware of how tense the air has grown between the two, unaware of how Seamus looks everywhere but Jordan’s eyes.

“It’s been a little over a month now, since that kid caught Dan and I in the locker rooms. And things have gotten better, they have, but nothing’s the same.”

Seamus dares to look up, and hard heavy eyes lock on his. They don’t let go.

“People who I’ve been calling friends since elementary school don’t talk to me anymore. Those who do, do it outside of school or on the phone, because they can’t be seen talking to me in public. I stopped going to after school clubs because no one got any work done, they were all too busy trying to whisper about me. Did you know the GSA wanted to hold a tolerance assembly after the news broke out? They wouldn’t say my name of course, but that’s how bad it got.”

“No.” Seamus says in a small voice. “I didn’t know that.”

“My mom found out because another mom met her in a grocery store one day and asked her about it, she and my dad staged it like an intervention. They’re good about it, they’re supportive, but even being home can be trying because my social life isn’t a quarter of what it was before, and no one can pretend they don’t know why.”

Seamus feels led to apologize, but he doesn’t. Empty ‘I’m sorry’s aren’t what Jordan’s looking for.

“Then by some chance, some _lucky_  chance, I meet you. And you know who I am, you know everything, but you don’t care at all. You care more about what I did in Shadow of Mordor than about anything that anyone says about me. And that’s. That’s important to me, Seamus.”

Fuck.

“So I’m sorry, if wanting to be around you more is a lot. I know you’ve got your introvert thing, I’m sorry if I’m too much. But God, Seamus, you’re the only person I can be around and feel normal with, and it  _sucks_  only doing it for a few minutes every day. And you’re the closest to normal I’ve gotten in forever, and I _think_  you like me too, and. And,”

“I’ve got plans today after school.” Seamus interrupts. His voice, normal and level, surprises his own ears, and Jordan’s too by the looks of it. Suddenly the noises of the cafeteria rush back into his head, settles back into his skin. And Jordan’s sitting there looking at him with a mouth slightly open, his own thoughts unfinished. Seamus shares the sentiment.

“Wh,” Jordan says.

“After school, me and James are going out to do a thing. But tomorrow we’re not doing anything, so if you want to swing by then I’m sure we can make room in James’ janky-ass little car. Bring your homework, I guess, and we can play some games. You know, if you want.”

A smile quirks Jordan’s lips then. The apple that had stilled in his hand rolls to the other one again and he nods deeply. Seamus’ gut is in twists and knots so tight that he can’t imagine taking another bite of food, but he lifts his water to his lips if only to occupy his mouth with  _something_.

“Yeah, Seamus.” Jordan says softly. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” Seamus replies, putting down the bottle again. “But prepare to get your ass kicked in on the ps4. Not by me, I’m terrible, but James will probably wreck the both of us.”

Jordan laughs, and air fills the room again. Seamus’ hands throb and he realizes he’d been keeping them in fists on his lap this whole time. Jordan looks up with a faint gleam of bravado in his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Tell him I said bring it on.”

//

“Jordan’s coming over tomorrow.” Seamus states later that day. The words just tumble out; Seamus can’t attach an emotion to them. He doesn’t  _have_  an emotion to attach to them. His head’s still ringing with the dry, quiet tone Jordan had spoken with earlier and more than anything he just wants James to laugh at him and be over with it all.

But James doesn’t laugh. When Seamus turns to check if his brother had heard him, he finds James watching him with a strange expression on his face, unreadable, and he gets nothing but a small nod.

“Okay.” He says. That’s it. Just ‘Okay’. Then after a beat, “I’ll see him there.”

//

Seamus doesn’t know what to think of the inevitability of Jordan Matthewson meeting his brother.  _He_  thinks James is a good guy, though that could have something to do with the fact that he’s been raised with him. James has always been a go-getter, outgoing and loud, willing to make nice with anyone, but also never willing to put up with anyone’s shit.

Something about these personality traits have blessed him with a lifelong popularity among his peers, but none of it’s ever really gone to his head. Whenever Seamus expresses any amount of bafflement at the amount of attention the boy can fetch from friends and strangers alike, James is often right there with him, nodding along in confusion, but willing him to roll with the punches.

So it’s not so much that Seamus doesn’t expect him and Jordan to get along. James can get along with anyone, and Jordan, all things considered, isn’t particularly difficult to be around either. But there’s a definite strangeness in the fact that all James knows about Jordan (Their most recent incident notwithstanding,) is what Seamus has told him. James only knows that Jordan is clever but not always, that his thing for cats goes way too far, and that he’s the only person in a little under a year that has gotten this far under Seamus’ skin.

Quite honestly, what that will mean when the two collide worries him.

So the next day after school Seamus is a bundle of strange nervous energy, trying to keep calm as he slings his backpack off of his chair and over his shoulder. Lunch had been calm, the quiet before the storm, but the closer Seamus gets to the double doors of Coby Carl is closer to the weirdest air Seamus has permitted so far this year.

Last year Seamus had looked James in the eye once and admitted that he’d been sleeping around with James’ closest friend, and he hadn’t been this tense or worried.

“Hey, Seamus.” A familiar voice hits his ear as he’s walking, and the boy looks up to see Jordan’s gangly frame there, keeping in step with him the best he can. He doesn’t look as nervous as Seamus does, but he’s not his usual, easy self either. Seamus returns his greeting and leads Jordan out the double doors, out into the crowded parking lot.

James is waiting by The Baby when they get there.

“Sup.” James says when the two approach. He doesn’t waste any time with awkward pleasantries, which Seamus appreciates. “So, uh, I think the best we can do about leg room for you, Jordan, is to have you sit in the back and kind of fold your legs like a horse? It’s like a ten minute drive, so I think you’ll be okay.”

Jordan, checking around them for the casual glances no doubt being tossed their way as  _Jordan Matthewson_  gets into  _James Wilson’s_  car, says shortly, “Okay.”

The pile into the tiny tin can and James revs the engine to life while Seamus fills Jordan in on The Baby’s history. Jordan gives an amused snort, quiet so as to not insult the host probably, and within a few minutes they’re out on the open road.

The radio has chosen to give out today, wonderful, and a stark silence settles in as Seamus runs out of niceties and Jordan shuffles around in the back. Then and only then does James perk up, rearranging his rear-view mirror so he can get a good look at Jordan’s eyes, and take a quick breath to say something.

Unwittingly, Seamus tenses. This could literally be anything.

“So,” James says, his voice breaking the silence and making Seamus imagine a hammer on cold glass, “If I were to give you twenty dollars right now, right this second, would you say to me the word ‘Fuck’?”

Almost instantly, the pair hit it off.

The second that the tension among them decides to ebb, Seamus knows that all his fretting was for naught. James can get Jordan to crack a smile easy, and Jordan’s replies leave James just as amused. By the time the car idles into the O’Doherty-Wilson driveway the mood is light, excited, and Seamus’ emergency worry level has gone down from an eight to an easy six.

“So where exactly am I taking you later, Jordan? Where’s home for you?”

“Uh, up on Craigg and Ninth?” Jordan replies, and Seamus nearly whips around from where he stands, unlocking the front door.

“Jesus Jordan, you never told me you lived in fucking Canada.” He says. Hell, he’d known Jordan came from money, but the well-manicured real-estate dreamland uptown? Seamus is half-tempted to ask if he’s got a farmhouse up north where he keeps his thoroughbreds too.  _Aleks_ would be impressed, hearing that.

Not to mention that part of town is a definite commute. Seamus can only imagine what kind of hell gas prices are for him.

“Yeah, well, you know.” Jordan says, clearly embarrassed. The suburbs where Seamus and his family settled aren’t anything to be ashamed of, and he’s not, but it still makes things feel weirder as the trio head inside the house and kick their shoes off at the door.

“Kitchen’s over there if you’re thirsty, living room’s there, obviously, and the downstairs bathroom is inbetween me and James’ room. So if you want to use the upstairs one instead, it’d make you a wise man.”

Seamus plays tour guide for a while and he can’t get over how  _non_ -awkward this all is. It’s strange, having a six-foot tall teenager at the table in his dining room, yes, but it’s not painful. It’s not the teeth-grinding cringe Seamus had assumed it would be, and the memories that Seamus had convinced himself would return upon Jordan’s arrival stay quiet, resting deep in the recesses of his mind.

He might regret the time that he’d wasted keeping Jordan at bay, he thinks as he leads Jordan into his room while James bids them farewell, but it’s all culminated to this.

He watches as Jordan catches sight of Meowgi napping on the side of his bed and how he lights up like a Christmas tree, cooing and crumbling to his knees in front of her as she looks at him like he’s an alien. Just watching Jordan trying to pet his cat, and her sniffing disdainfully at his outstretched hand before waltzing out of his room with a dismissive flick of her tail, convinces Seamus that things probably couldn’t have gone better than this.

“Seamus,” Jordan whines, collapsed in a pile at the far corner of his bed. “Your cat’s broken.”

//

Seamus can’t stop looking at Jordan. He can’t stop thinking about the fact that the boy is here, in his room. The boy who he’d hooked up with once. The boy who he had given his number to. casually. The boy who he knows but just, just barely, and who he still has so many questions about.

He doesn’t want to be intrusive, but Jordan’s the one standing in the center of his floor while Seamus talks with him, and this question has such a tight grip on his lungs.

If Jordan hadn’t spoken to him before about the events of that day Seamus wouldn’t even bring it up. But ever since he’d shown that willingness to talk about it Seamus has wanted more than the idle gossip James had been able to pass on. Not because he wants to know what happened for entertainment purposes, but rather Jordan’s baffled him. How could something like happen to him, but he’s still able to get up every day and carry on?

“Jordan, can I ask you something?” Seamus asks as he hands him a controller and brings the PS4 to life. Jordan nods in his direction, and the only thing that gives Seamus pause is the guilt that hits him before he even asks.

“That day in the locker room. What happened there?”

Jordan’s face goes dark for a minute, slack and cold, and Seamus jumps to life. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it anymore, I get it, you don’t have to. It’s just, I’m curious.”

Jordan looks at his hands first, and for a moment Seamus worries that he’s picked at too sore a nerve (Or maybe rejoices? Maybe this will show the boy what it’s like to spend extended amounts of time with him,) and that Jordan will let the matter lie. But instead he carefully reaches up to push his hat tighter on his head and takes a small breath, sitting down on Seamus’ bed.

“It was a joke between my friend Dan and me, or at least it started out that way. I never told him I wasn’t straight but we’ve known each other since we were kids and he picked up on it somewhere down the line, and then I just didn’t deny him. I didn’t plan on…acting on any of my urges until I was out of school at least, where I could have a little more freedom and safety, you know?”

“Of course.” Seamus breathes, understanding more than Jordan can hope to comprehend.

“But then one day just out of the blue we were kidding about how much it must suck to kiss a guy with a beard, wouldn’t it hurt and all that, and one thing led to another. I think that was his way of looking into some stuff about himself, honestly. I tried to back out of it but he insisted. And besides, what kind of friend doesn’t help their other friend in a time of identity crisis?”

“So noble.” Seamus chips in, and it earns him a scornful glare. “Sorry, sorry.”

  
“Well then, you know the rest I’m sure. Someone saw, and someone told their friend, news travels fast around here. Before I knew what happened, everyone I know was either looking at me like I was an alien, or not speaking to me at all. Dan had to beg his girlfriend not to leave him, turns out he was still straight after all, and now what you see is what you get.”

Seamus looks at him, long and steady. As someone who has been on the other side of hell and been pitied for it, he knows better to apologize for the shit the universe has thrown at him, but at the same time he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Wow.” He starts off. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Jordan says. “It sure does. But Dan’s apologized about a million times since, and my parents are trying to be supportive. Everyone expected me to be angry at him, or scared of my mom and dad or the world, but that just didn’t happen. You know, nobody did anything wrong. Everything just… happened wrong.”

Somehow that’s the thing that hits Seamus like a bag of bricks. He sinks deep into the recesses of his desk chair and lifts a hand to his chin, straightening up a second later when Jordan’s still staring at him there. He realizes it’s his turn to comment, and he thinks for a second before opening his mouth.

So it wasn’t that the event wasn’t traumatizing or horrific, Seamus comes to realize. It’s just that Jordan is very, very strong.

Well that’s no help.

 

“You’re one brave son of a bitch, Jordan Matthewson.” He says, grabbing his controller and scrolling through the menu in front of him. Attention turns back to the tv and Jordan gets the message that their moment is over, Seamus’ curiosity stated. The next words he says feel strange to tell someone, but they’re not at all untrue.

“I admire you for that.”

//

They talk, they game, Jordan shows off the impressive (read: disgusting) amount of pizza rolls that he can consume in a single sitting. And besides the general jarring situation of having an  _other_  in his space with him, someone not James’ presence or his mother henpecking him about having too many cups in his room, it’s nice.

The second the PS4 hums to life the rest of the world falls away behind them anyway. Conversation stops, or turns only to strategy and exclamations of rage, and when Seamus looks up again his stomach is sore from how he’d been sprawled out on it, and the sky is well streaked with pink and violet. The streetlamps have flicked on and Seamus can’t actually recall where the past few hours of his life have gone.

He also feels particularly foolish for telling Jordan to bring his homework, as it fast becomes apparent that nothing, nothing is getting done until the two of them complete this darn fucking raid.

//

“Last call for the James express, get your shoes on or walk home.” James says about half an hour later, choosing to walk in through the bathroom door rather than the main one. Jordan, unused to this, jumps a little but Seamus just rolls his eyes, saying fast “Does that mean if he walks home he’s not wearing shoes?”

Accompanied then by, “Please don’t make me walk home without my shoes, James.”

Seamus smiles.

“Just be ready in a few minutes, Seamus we gotta swing by Spencer’s before we come back home and you neglected to tell me that Jordan lives in fucking South America.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know, he never told me.”

“You never asked!”

“Why would I ask? I don’t care where you live.”

“I swear to god if at least one of you doesn’t get in my goddamn car in ten minutes,”

“We’re going!”

James disappears from the door then, and Jordan dejectedly sets down his controller.

“Can you not just drive me home?” He asks, getting to his feet and sucking in a breath as his bones pop.

“James doesn’t allow anyone behind the wheel of The Baby but himself. Which is just as well actually, I don’t want to be the one driving that pile of garbage when it eventually kicks out.”

“Ah, okay.”

Jordan gathers his things in muted silence, Seamus feeling strange as he sits on the side of his bed and waits, watching the rosy light from his window land on Jordan’s feet in slants. Within minutes he’s packed up and ready to go, and Seamus is standing just next to his door, but neither of them actually reach for the handle. Little flecks of dust stay suspended in the air as Seamus’ mouth searches for the words he wants, that he hadn’t been planning on speaking until the silence went this long.

“This was fun, Seamus.” Jordan says. That about sums it up.

“Yeah, it was…You should come over again, some time.”

And by god, he actually means it. Actually looks forward to another afternoon spent stepping around Jordan’s ridiculous limbs on the floor. What the hell is going on.

Jordan looks properly warmed, chin lifting and eyes catching a gleam. He gives his affirmation, and is just heading to the doors when the rest of the words leave Seamus in a rush.

“I’m sorry you had to open up like that to get my head out of my ass.” He says, and Jordan’s eyebrow rises. “I don’t. Just don’t think of this as a pity thing or anything, alright? I should have been hanging out with you for a while now, you shouldn’t have had to spill your guts to get me to realize it.”

“Okay.” Jordan says after one more moment. “That’s. Thanks for saying that, Seamus.”

“No problem.” Seamus says too fast, quick trying to push past the boy before they have some kind of moment. Instead Jordan bumps him with the loaded end of his backpack and he grins gently as he says “But thanks for listening too, and understanding.”

“Yeah.” Seamus says. “Anytime.”

Now they’re definitely having some kind of moment. The lowering sun from the window is washing over their faces and Jordan’s eyes go very green where the light hits them, and Seamus’ mouth is dry. Jordan reaches out to pat Seamus shoulder, a sign of solidarity, and both of them nearly jump out of their skins as a third voice breaks between them.

“Will the ridiculously tall and short teenagers please adjourn at the front of the house please, lest this car leave without them and have them scratching for bus fare within the corners of the couch cushions, thank you.”

The moment breaks, Jordan’s hand slips from Seamus’ arm. The two break in double grins and Jordan stares hard at the ground as Seamus pushes the door open, yelling “James, I swear to god,” as he does.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s surprising, how big the world gets once Seamus gets up and lets some light in. A couple weeks ago he’d been a self-proclaimed hermit, living day-to-day with only his brother for company and being damn content while doing it. Nowadays he’s doing very much the same, but sometimes Jordan is also there, when he remembers to grab gas money for James, anyway.

And it’s weird, kind of. Jordan doesn’t make it weird. In fact he fits in startlingly well with the rest of Seamus’ lifestyle, lazing around on his bed or the couch, doing hardcore backseat gaming when James isn’t there to drive Seamus up a wall, or charming his parents so they can give him pointed stares later on; ‘ _Why aren’t you as polite as your friend Jordan?’_

So, Seamus is forced to admit, there could have been worse decisions in this world than letting Jordan in.

Of course, admitting this to himself is one thing. That’s a startling revelation made in the wee early hours of the morning, dragging shampoo through his hair and having a moment to hiss “Ah, goddamnit.” To himself in private before moving right along with his thoughts.

He expects that saying it out loud to an audience will be a much more daunting task, but it later turns out that it isn’t so much the case.

They’re sat next to each other in James’ room when it happens. It’s Seamus and Jordan against James and a CPU, their usual setup (Though lately they _have_  discovered that James and Jordan make a dangerous team, and Seamus won’t play with them anymore if they play against him again. It’s just unfair.) And as a clock winds down there’s a shower of onscreen gunfire and bloodspatter, and James, above them gives a defeated yell.

“No!” He barks, and there’s a soft bouncing on the carpet as his controller sails to the floor and lands beside them. An orange popup on the tv screen asks James to please reconnect the battery pack.

Seamus and Jordan hardly even notice, too busy putting on their smug faces and high-fiving so James will hear.

“Well done, Seamus.” Jordan is saying. “The way you took on that last ambush? I could kiss you.”

And for the first time, Seamus feels his dry, automatic reply bubble up behind his lips, but he traps it in at the last second. Holy shit, had he really almost said “Well, you already did once, at least.” To him?

Instead of saying that, swallowing those words down tight. Instead, Seamus says “Yeah, we make a great team.” and tosses James’ controller back up to him, but it’s too damn late. The atmosphere has shifted and now James is looking down on him from the bed, and Jordan’s watching him, amused.

“Oh god, what.” Seamus says, instantly on his guard.

“Nothing.” James says. “Except you laughed kinda hard at what he just said there, that’s all. It’s weird to see you happy like that.”

This isn’t the first time this has happened, but it is the first with Jordan.

After the catastrophe with Aleks, everything had been awkward. Seamus, still valuing Aleks’ company, hadn’t wanted to give up the friendship they’d built up under all the nonsense. Seamus would trudge over to his house and sit in his usual spot on the couch, but there was no doubt that everything was happening… wrong. The elephant in the room retroactively striking again.

But they hadn’t skirted around it before. There were no long lasting hard feelings from the breakup, if it could have even been called that. It was more like a mutual decision to cut back the dick-touching to zero, and stop lying to James about being as busy as they said they were.

He doesn’t remember what they’d been discussing back then, it had been something about…cheetos? Something equally irrelevant, at least. And it was kind of funny but things were still bumpy, and Seamus felt out of sorts, a bad decision and a half away from waiting in the car until James was ready to leave.

That’s when Aleks had come up with an idea.

As the tension around them grew to a wobbly high, as did the boys themselves, Aleks had propped himself up in the armchair and pointed directly at Seamus with the end of a cigarillo wrapper.

“Dude, you need to brush your teeth more.” He’d said with a disproportionate amount of confidence. When Seamus had only stared, Aleks had gone on. “I don’t think that you think anyone else notices the mornings you don’t brush, but I’ve tasted your fucking mouth dude, and it can be nasty.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. It was free in the open air, what they’d done (at least a small portion of it,) and without them having to sidestep around it, things fell right into place. James had yelped as if he’d been personally scorned, still raw about the entirety of the situation, but Seamus had laughed and taken his licks, and by the end of the night things were on the path to being okay.

Since then, neither of them have shied away from openly acknowledging their fucked up little situation, though it goes unmentioned more and more as the time goes on.

And now, Seamus thinks, the same could be happening again.

This time not on purpose though, as Jordan doesn’t even seem to realize that he’s said something about wanting to kiss Seamus for at least the second time in his life. And James isn’t helping at all, cooing from above them like some cupid infected with hubris. If Jordan hasn’t picked up on what he accidentally said James has, and is running with it.

But this time Seamus doesn’t want to talk about it. Not like how he’d done with Aleks. There there’d been tension that needed breaking, a hump to get over. Here the whole thing is just irrelevant, and Jordan even accidentally bringing it up needs to be put to an end. Seamus moves back further so his back is straight with the bed and crosses his arms.

“What?” He says, not looking at either of them. “Can I not say that I enjoyed being on a team with my friend anymore? Are we no longer in America?”

And just like that, he’s said it. Not coerced out of him pleadingly, not stuttered out in nervousness. Clean as flowing water he’d looked at Jordan and referred to him as a friend, and Jordan looks pleased as can be.

“Ha!” He says, and Seamus regrets it instantly. “I knew you liked me, Seamus. I knew it.”

“Jordan, you’re at my house.” Seamus huffs. “Earlier you drank out of a mug I’d made in third grade that has my name on it, I’d figured you would have guessed I liked you by now.”

“Yeah, okay.” Jordan replies. “But you’ve never said it before now. Ugh, I wish I scrapbooked so I could take a picture and remember this forever.”

“I’m going to my room.” Seamus says then, putting down his controller. Jordan makes an upset noise and a mad grab for the heel of Seamus’ jeans but Seamus slips through his grip, scuttling through the bathroom door and disappearing.

“Look what you did, you blew it.” James teases, and Jordan gives a fake cry at the words.

On his way back in to tell Jordan that he’s decided that their friendship status has been regressed to ‘politely familiar’, Seamus passes the bathroom mirror. He almost has to pause and do a double take then, as he catches sight of the easy grin on his own face, and realizes how strange it is to see it. It’s been a long time.

//

For the first time in an unprecedented amount of months, James isn’t bothering Seamus to go out with him on a Friday night. And, were this event not being foretelling enough of some global cataclysmic event, it’s because  _Seamus_  had plans already.

Seamus is sitting in the living room when James finds him, perched unusually close to the front door and keeping an eye on both the tv in front of him and the window to his left in short, even intervals. He’s got his shoes on already and a jacket to combat the mid-April chill, and he sees James walk past him once en route to the kitchen, then pause and swivel around.

“What’s goin’ on with you?” He asks, pure curiosity coloring his words.

Seamus looks up at him. “What?”

James makes a large, sweeping gesture to Seamus’ form, from his outdoor attire to the fact that he’s perched next to the door, ready to bolt. “Look at you, you’re dressed like a person.”

He hadn’t told James about this yet for two reasons. One, he’d only known himself a couple of hours ago when Jordan had texted him out of the blue (Seamus’ no texting shtick had been steadily falling apart anyway, so he’d not been bothered). And two, because he’d been afraid of this.

Not the same kind of gut-churning, identity-crisis worry that had been plaguing him before, but more of an uncomfortable distain for the inevitable. For whatever would happen when James found out what was going on. Whatever relieved light behind his parents’ eyes had lit up so bright when he’d told them had been bad enough, but he knows James won’t hold back, given the opportunity to not.

“Uh, Jordan has a friend who works at the movie theater downtown and he got advanced tickets to something otherwise sold out, so me and his friends are gonna go down and see it.”

Play it cool, Seamus. This isn’t strange, unthinkable, or going against every barrier you’ve been constructing since last July. This is just a guy going out to have a good time. Right, yep.

James makes a surprised little noise, right in Seamus’ ear, and he jumps.

“You’re going out. On a Friday night. On your own volition.”

Be cool.

“What, he offered me tickets to a sold out show and I’m gonna say no? Fuck that.”

“You’ve literally said no to every offer I’ve brought up to you for months! The hell makes this so different?”

Seamus waits for some biting, sarcastic truth to unwind in his brain, but nothing comes. Instead he stares forward for a second, frowning slightly as he does so and says, “I. I don’t know.”

James watches him for a second, then leans back up and knees the back of the couch just enough to bump Seamus forward.

“Well have fun, I guess. Do you know who else is going?”

“His friend who works at the movies and a girl he used to go out with. Should be interesting, to say the least.”

No reply comes to that, and Seamus resumes checking the window and checking the television, assuming James had made his way back to the kitchen. Well, that went over mostly easily. James could have been a lot worse, Seamus guesses, though the real fun is probably waiting for him in the aftermath, where James will be perched in wait to hear the fun details of their adventure.

But he’ll be able to get through that quickly, hopefully at least-

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, a solid weight, and Seamus twists, surprised to see James still standing there behind him. He’s about to say something to James about scaring him, but then he sees James’ face, the kind expression he’s wearing. Seamus leans back.

“Hey.” James says, and Seamus lifts a concerned eyebrow. “Welcome back, Seamus O’Doherty, we missed you.”

//

Well that was fucking weird.

After James’ little moment, he’d patted Seamus twice on the shoulder and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Seamus there to stare and try and think of a comeback, and then ultimately fail to do so. He’d been a little worried that he’d still be there waiting when James left with whatever food he’d picked up, but shortly after he’d gone a car had pulled up outside his house, and Seamus took off.

He isn’t about to rehash whatever had just happened to Jordan, nothing he needs to know after all, but it turns out he doesn’t have time to dwell on the moment anyway. As soon as he approaches the car the front window rolls down, Jordan in the front seat.

“Shotgun’s taken, Seamus.” He says.  “Get in behind me.”

When Seamus does so, he finds himself in a ridiculously nice car, settling into a seat that’s leather or leather-like. It’s almost hard to believe that this car and The Baby are on the same spectrum of Machines.

 Beside him is a girl who looks to be around his age, possibly taller than him with dark eyes and jet-black hair that spills over her shoulders. She smiles and says hello and Seamus does the same. Considering she’s the only girl in the car, Seamus is willing to bet that she’s Jordan’s ex.

“Monica, meet Seamus.” Jordan says from the front. “Seamus, Monica.”

They exchange mutual hey’s.

“And this is Dan up here. His girlfriend Liz couldn’t make it tonight you can thank her for your ticket.”

Dan. Oh, fuck.

In the passengers seat is a more familiar face, someone Seamus has seen around school once or twice, usually toting ancient video equipment in and out of classrooms. He’s a portlier guy with short-cropped brown hair and the beginnings of a beard around his jaw, and he is the one who Jordan had kissed in the locker room all that time ago, starting the shit spiral to end all shit spirals.

Of course, Seamus had known Jordan and Dan were still friends. Outside of Seamus, he was the one Jordan kept in closest contact with, which spoke volumes. But considering that any time anyone saw them together the pair were met with, at the very least, hushed whispers aimed at their backs, the two tended not to talk much on school grounds or in public or anywhere.

“Hey, hello.” Seamus says, putting every amount of effort into not looking as strange as he feels. He either pulls it off or Dan ignores any awkwardness in favor of returning that hello, then asking him where his favorite spot in the theater is, considering the hell that are glasses with 3D movies.

And then…they have fun.

Seamus doesn’t have time to concentrate on his thoughts about Dan as discussion arises about the movie they’re about to see, some sequel-prequel that’s supposedly set to burn up the box office and change lives. It turns out that other than laying the groundwork for Seamus and Jordan to eventually and messily meet, Dan is a pretty okay guy. He’s got an internal movie database that parallels nothing Seamus has ever seen before, and before the car’s even parked he’s done at least three spot-on impressions.

Monica’s not too bad either. She’s got a bright laugh and sticks to her guns when an argument arises about the background of an actor in the move they’re heading to. Even when she gets decimates with facts she holds her ground, asserting that her truth would have been better anyway. He also finds out that this is her only weekend this month that she’ll be able to visit her friends, as the rest of her time is spent at an upstate all-girl’s college prep school.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Seamus had said purely out of instinct. She’d laughed and Jordan and feigned hurt from the front seat, and he’d been acutely aware of how well this was going.

Seamus can’t say he’s ever been particularly curious about the other souls Jordan surrounds himself with, he’d assumed that he must have kinda crappy taste if Seamus is a priority of his, but he’s surprised how not-bad they are, and how easy it all comes back to him. He knows how to play nice and not be short towards people, but it’s another thing entirely to enjoy them, to have fun without obscene amounts of liquor in his system.

In the end the movie’s okay, the Applebees they hit up afterwards is better. The night ends before ten but when Jordan’s car pulls up outside his house again, Seamus finds himself wishing that it wouldn’t. When he tells Dan that it was cool to finally meet him he means it, and Monica agrees that she’ll happily be down to do this again next time she’s in town.

Jordan, most of all, is glowing. Tonight he’s more in his element than Seamus has ever seen him, laughing and comfortable and open. He tells Seamus goodnight and that he’ll text him later, and when Seamus hops out of the car he smears his hand down the condensation on the driver’s side window, his own fond farewell.

“Hey, and I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Jordan calls out as Seamus starts across the lawn. He turns to give him a thumbs up in the porch light.

“Oh yeah, you dern sure will.” Seamus says, and in a heartbeat and a half he realizes how easly what he’d said had rolled right off his tongue. If there was one verbal discrepancy he had against Jordan to top all others, it was goddamn “dern sure”. Seamus abhorred the phrase on its own, and grew more and more distaste for it whenever Jordan used it after he’d won an argument. (Which was not often. Just to be clear.)

There’s no hope that Jordan missed it either, as a second later he yips victoriously and points out the window, gasping, “Did you just say-!”

“Alright, see you later Jordan, bye!” Seamus says fast, too fast, as he turns and makes a dash for his door while Jordan celebrates behind him. The sound of squealing tires accompanies the door slam, and Seamus is still laughing when he walks in.

Predictably, James is waiting there waiting for him inside.

Seamus can’t blame him for being curious; he knows he’s rapidly approaching complete 180 status on his approach to life because of this. But right now he doesn’t really want to indulge his brother. He kind of wants to let the good vibes of the night carry on without the after party, and he knows as soon as he brings up that it was Dan with them, and how Mon had joked about her and Jordan’s dead relationship a few times, the entire night becomes a shelved event. Something to be passed around and dissected, not something Seamus is still currently enjoying.

But he indulges him, just a little.

“So how was everything?” James coos as soon as Seamus’ ass hits his mattress. “Did you break any hearts, have to fight off any of the competition?”

He’s not even being subtle and Seamus hates him for it.

“Well,” Seamus says, “Dan’s straight, Mon’s his ex, and just last week I watched Jordan consider eating a banana pepper off the floor of a Subway restaurant, so I’m never touching him again anyway. But thanks for your concern.”

“Oh shit, Dan was there?” James says, pushing right through Seamus’ rebuff. “Like, the Dan who,”

“Yeah.” Seamus says shortly, almost surprised at how defensive he gets immediately. A couple of hours ago he’d been the same as James, completely reliant on the same thought. But now the idea of anyone thinking of Dan that way makes his skin prick. “They are still friends, the whole incident didn’t like, tear them apart or anything.”

“Okay, okay.” James says, backing up lightly. “Sorry, you’d just think it would be weird, like, the atmosphere between them or something, I don’t know.”

“Nah, not really.” Seamus says. “It was a pretty chill whole thing, nothing really excited happened.”

James nods, still standing there like he expects more details, though he quickly comes to realize that that’s all Seamus has to say. This has to be difficult when the usual routine is for him to lay out the entire events of the night, mostly so he can tear through and exacerbate anything that went wrong. So hearing ‘It was fun, I had fun.’ Has to be jarring.

“You should come next time, Jordan’s friends are pretty okay. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” The absurdity of  _Seamus_  inviting  _James_  out to do something doesn’t hit him until the words leave his mouth.  _What_  is the world coming to.

James concedes then, shadowing back to his room with a shrug, pleased enough to tell Seamus he’s glad he had a good time, and sure, yeah, he’d be up for going out next time Seamus does. (God, it’s even weirder to hear someone else say it.) He disappears with a click of the door shutting behind him, and Seamus starts to kick his shoes off, easing back into bed.

//

“Hey, what’s this?” Jordan asks, flattening his body to Seamus’ floor and swinging an arm under his bed.

The first truly warm winds of April are drifting through Seamus’ window and his tv, for once, has been turned off. In its stead is the unbalanced studying playlist coming from Jordan’s phone on the nightstand. Books and papers lay empty around Seamus’ bed, while on the floor Jordan is surrounded by his own books and folders, a calculator and some pens scattered by his feet.

School’s still got a little over a month until finals start to rear up, but considering the quality and effort Seamus had put into school this year, as well as the large academic slip up that had come with Jordan’s incident earlier on, the two have some considerable ground to cover. And while most days are spent yelling and arguing their voices hoarse over k/d ratios, this happens to be one of the afternoons where actual work has to be done, lest actual consequences start showing up for their actions.

Now Seamus peeks over the lip of his bed, watching Jordan’s head disappear under the springs and then pop back out, his hat toppling off his head in the process. When he comes out, he drags a large metal rectangle out with him and Seamus scoffs.

“Oh, god.” He says. “I forgot that thing was even there.”

Jordan picks up the laptop, running a finger over its dusty surface and lifting the lid. A long dormant screen reflects back to him, and when he tries the power button the machine stays silent.

“Yeah, around the time James got The Baby I got really jealous of his work ethic and decided I needed a project too. My uncle was gonna throw that out and I said I’d take it off his hands, because for some reason I was sure I could google how to fix a beat up old laptop. I wanted to use it for gaming or something but I could never really get it to work, then it just got forgotten, I guess.”

Jordan looks up at Seamus almost proudly. “I knew you were PC Master Race, Seamus. I knew computer memory was the only thing stopping you.”

Another long held debate coming to light, Seamus flicks a pencil at him, rolling his eyes.

“Ugh, die.” He says. Jordan laughs.

“You know this thing doesn’t look in too bad of shape, really.” He says. He brings it to eye level and peers into the slots on either side of it, flicking at the collected dust and squinting into the drives.

“Oh yeah, you are the kind of person who gets really into that, huh.” Seamus says. “Be straight with me, have you ever taken apart a computer and then put it together for fun?”

Jordan sets the laptop on his lap. “Only once.” He says defensively. Another pencil goes flying.

“Ow, quit that!” He rubs sorely at where it had pinged off his temple. “But you know, Seamus, I could take this home and have a look at it if you want. Everything seems to be put together okay, it might just be a couple damaged parts.”

“Do you need another computer?” Seamus asks, reaching down to reclaim his pencil. “You told me you have three monitors at home.”

“No, not for me.” Jordan says. He clicks the laptop shut and looks at Seamus like he’s wronged him. “If I can get this thing up and running than that’d mean we could play more matches without you,” he pauses to make finger quotes in the air, “Lagging out.”

“First of all you’ve seen out computer, you know it is lagging out.” Seamus says. “But I mean, go ahead if you want to. Just remember if it’s missing like a three-hundred dollar part that I can’t foot you the bill.”

“Nah.” Jordan affirms. “Everything seems to be in working order, it just needs some attention.”

“By all means, then.” Seamus says, waving his hand. He can’t pretend the idea of having his own computer doesn’t excite him. And as much as he wants to tell Jordan that’s too much, he knows him too well by now. One way or another that laptop will be going home with him.

 “The rest of its stuff is there under the bed if you need it. But get back to work, damn it, you’re distracting me.”

//

“So, you coming over again tomorrow? I’ve got a shit-ass chem test coming up and I need someone to yell at me to focus.”

The Cafeteria hums its usual vivacious tune behind them. Side doors have been opened to the courtyard outside and chilly breezes invade the furthest corners of the cafeteria, not yielding against Seamus and Jordan in their usual place. Seamus has his jacket pulled up tight around his shoulders as he questions Jordan, who looks down forlornly at his food afterwards.

“Sorry, can’t.” He says, pushing a fry around on his tray. “It was insisted that I get taken out for a steak dinner on my birthday with just my parents, so.”

Seamus looks up, eyes snapping to attention. Jordan looks none too pleased about what he’d just said, which doesn’t make much sense because Seamus doesn’t think he knows a better string of words than, “Steak dinner for my birthday.” Also, since when was it Jordan’s birthday?

“It’s your birthday tomorrow?” Seamus asks. “You should have told me man, now I can’t get you a joke present, like high-heeled shoes.”

Jordan laughs lightly, shrugging.

“It’s not a big deal, really. Nothing big even happens when you turn seventeen.”

“So?” Seamus asks. “Jack shit happened when I turned seventeen and I still went out and got shit-faced. It was amazing, I don’t remember any of it.”

“Yeah,” Jordan says tightly, “I guess. It’s just last year, there was this huge whole blowout for my sweet sixteen. Tons of people showed up, I got a car, it was great. This year…”

Oh.  _Oh._

“Oh my god, they’re not taking you out of pity, are they?” Seamus says like the words personally harm him. “Ah, fuck, man.”

“I wouldn’t say pity.” Jordan combats, though the look in his eyes says something different entirely. “Just. There’s not as much of a hooplah as there was last year, that’s all.”

Seamus pulls a face, not buying it at all.

“Bullshit.” He says, and Jordan looks up at him. “We can do something for your birthday you know, if you want to. Do you want to see a movie or something? Go out and get plastered?”

Jordan shakes his head, “We don’t have to,”

“I know we don’t have to.” Seamus replies before Jordan can shake him off. “But we should anyway. Just give me time, I’ll think of something.”

Jordan’s trying really hard not to smile. But his happiness betrays him in his eyes as he looks up and gives Seamus a short nod, saying “Sure, okay. Sure thing.” And Seamus leans back to think. Neither money nor time is on his side, but he’ll come up with something. Something that drowns out the image of Jordan sullenly picking at a 25 dollar steak with his parents, and pounding it into the ground.

//

He blurts out his brilliant solution a day later, as he and Jordan make their way to the parking lot. He’d agonized about this the night before, calling in James for backup when his mind drew up blank after damning blank. When it came to consider things Jordan liked, hunting, video games, shit like that, everything was either too out of budget or too outdoors to happen. When it came to gift ideas, he had even less.

Finally he’d thrown his hands down in defeat, pleased that at least he hadn’t promised Jordan something spectacular or groundbreaking, just a good time. All the same he can’t stop sounding disappointed in himself when he says to Jordan, “So me and James are going over to Aleks’ tomorrow, you in?”

Jordan and Aleks aren’t familiar, but the two know of each other’s existence. Aleks, from all the dramatic retellings that they get into when James and Seamus are over, and Jordan, from the admittedly lesser tales of what exactly goes on in the Marchant basement. Seamus doesn’t really even think the option will entice Jordan, but it’s all he’s got.

“Really?” Jordan asks, and Seamus pauses to parse his meaning. He’d expected him to sound disdainful and unimpressed, but he actually sounds a little curious.

Seamus expands, “Yeah, there’s usually good stuff to drink over there, and, you know, the rest, if you’re into that.”

It’s hard to guess how Jordan Matthewson, the non-swearing, cat loving, binge-drinking occasional-party-hookuping teenager will react to an invitation to smoke, but to Seamus’ surprise he considers it.

“You know how there are social drinkers, people who only sip wine at parties and stuff?” Jordan asks. Seamus nods. “I think that’s how I am with smoking. But it has been a while, my tolerance is probably not that high.”

Seamus holds back a fiendish grin. Of all the things one wants to hear from their perspective smoking partner, that’s near the top of the list.

“So you’ll actually do it?” Seamus asks. “You’ll come with us?”

“Seamus, you’ve never invited me before.” Jordan says. “I would have gone with you earlier if you wanted.”

“Fair enough.” Seamus says, and by then James is visible as he sits on the trunk of The Baby, waving in their direction as they split. “So just come home with us tomorrow. We’ll have a good time, it’ll be fun.”

“I’m already looking forward to it.” Jordan says, and then they part ways.

//

Jordan has to duck to get under the stairwell in Aleks’ basement and it’s hilarious.

On the last step he stumbles, the ridge of his hat bumping the low-hanging stairwell ceiling, and the resulting chaos has James barking at him and Seamus as both of them work not to drop the six-packs in their hands.

“Animals.” James grumbles as they make their way back.

It’s a short introduction from Aleks to Jordan. They don’t have the moment of instantly hitting it off that Jordan and James did, but it quickly becomes clear that they can be friendly towards each other. Aleks’ isn’t too hard to get along with upon any first meeting, and his impish asshole side rearing up only means that he’s comfortable.

So the two make nice, then light conversation. Aleks, taking one look at Jordan’s good-ol-boy straight edge appearance, asks Jordan if he’s ever smoked before and Jordan replies that he’s done it enough so that he won’t make an embarrassment out of himself.

“That’s a challenge, dude.” Aleks says, and Jordan’s eyes shine.

“Well then, bring it on.” He says, and the night begins.

The drinks go first, James proposing a toast to Jordan’s seventeenth year.

“May it go better than whatever the hell sixteen did to you.” He says, and Jordan happily clinks the rim of his drink against James’, the Seamus’.

This is where James really stands out. He keeps conversation, drinks, jokes flowing continually until the alcohol starts to settle in and everyone gets more comfortable. He calls himself after only one drink though, citing his duty as a designated driver.

“James,” Seamus says as he puts a half empty bottle on to the floor. “I swear to god I will stop drinking right now if you agree to let me drive The Baby home. I’ll do it. I swear.”

“I see you preying on me right now, Seamus, in my time of weakness. You’re a sick son of a bitch, you know that?” He says, and Jordan laughs as Seamus picks back up his bottle and downs the rest of it easy.

Once everyone is a little looser and in higher spirits, Aleks reaches down and under the couch. From there he pulls the familiar kitchen tray that had long since been repurposed to hold everything he needs.

While Aleks works with quick and nimble fingers, discussing some matter of interest between James and himself, Seamus works himself back into the familiar contours of the couch, humming contently as he does so. The drinks have made his mind lax and Jordan is sitting by his side, eyes bright with interest and eagerness.  Did he do well enough, is this an okay enough waste of the day after his birthday? God, he needs to know.

Then with a few rolls of his fingers and a flash of tongue on long brown paper, Aleks is presenting a well-rolled joint and a lighter to Jordan.

“First hit goes to the birthday boy.” He announces as he hands it over.

“You’re too kind.” Jordan says.

Seamus watches with muted interest as Jordan lights it, then lifts it to his lips. He watches the tip burn bright red and yellow, and how Jordan’s chest expands to accommodate it all. He watches as he moves the blunt away from his lips and after a pause, lets the first tendril of silver smoke out of his mouth, followed by a much longer stream of it.

Then he watches as Jordan turns to him, face warped and eyes watering as he says through a choked, weakened voice, “Hand me my drink, Seamus. I just burned the crap out of my throat.”

//

That single mishap notwithstanding, things go pretty well from there on. Seamus would be content to let the room dissolve in smoke in front of him, but Aleks has gotten himself invested in the whole ‘Party’ mindset, and so after a minute he looks across the room at Seamus and says “Hey Seamus, you ever show Jordan your trick?”

Seamus knows what he’s referring to, but he still shrugs as an answer. “I got a bag of tricks, Aleks, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

In response, Aleks lifts his hands in front of him and makes a little canoe shape between his palms. He blows a clear breath between them and then looks up, lifting an eyebrow.

“That’s my favorite shit, dude. You gotta do it for him.”

All too soon, Seamus feels his face heat up. He likes the idea, but Jordan is poised so softly next to him, and when he thinks about doing it then he thinks about the closeness, the intimacy.

“I dunno.” He says, waving it off.

“Naw, Seamus, c’mon. I wanna see.” Jordan whines, and Seamus looks up to give Aleks a cold glare.

“You did this.” He sighs. He wants to tell Aleks just to fucking do it if he’s such a fan, but that would put them at risk of botching the move, which is just unthinkable. Instead Seamus hauls his body to a standing position, oh fuck he hadn’t even taken height differences into account, and motions for Jordan to do the same.

“You’re very lucky it’s your birthday, asshole.” Seamus says.

“Day after my birthday,” Jordan replies, but when Seamus moves to sit back down Jordan catches his arm, keeping him standing.

“Okay, when James tells you to, you need to breathe in, okay? If you just watch you’ll lose a perfectly good hit and be dead to me. So pay attention.”

“Right.” Jordan says, all business.

Then Seamus imitates the move Aleks had done a moment ago, cupping his hands in front of his mouth, palms just under his chin. He gives his head the tiniest shake as he positions it towards Jordan’s mouth, the taller boy having to lean down to be eye-level.

Here, the sight of Jordan’s eyes, just slightly unfocused with the drink and smoke, make Seamus’ skin feel weird and tight. He shakes the feeling as the lighter flicks to life beside him. James, the third party helper here, lifts the blunt to Seamus’ lips and he breathes in, very carefully gathering the smoke on his mouth and letting very little of it down his throat. The ashy taste settles heavy on his tongue and teeth, and he gives a small nod when he’s collected enough and the weight of it has started to scorch the back of his mouth.

When he flicks his eyes up again Jordan is staring, transfixed, and Seamus’ chest wobbles.

Then with a slow careful deliberateness he breathes out, letting the smoke cradle between his hands, flowing from his lips like a river, settling on top of his fingers.

Softly, from another world, Seamus hears James say ‘now,’ and Jordan parts his lips, breathing in and watching as the collected smoke moves from Seamus’ mouth to his own. Even when Seamus’ lungs are empty and Jordan’s mouth is closed, they haven’t looked away from each other’s eyes.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Aleks says from the armchair, ripping their attention away from one another. Seamus turns to look at him, dropping his palms as he does so. Jordan exhales the recycled smoke.

“Next time you should just straight up shotgun with him, dude. You’re pretty great at that too.”

//

The blunt goes around a few times before everyone’s highs start to settle in. The familiar and comforting fog takes Seamus’ brain once more, and it isn’t long before James is laying himself out on the long couch, and Aleks is tipping his head back, nodding to the rhythm playing in his mind. Jordan relaxes noticeably, carefully seeping back into the recesses of the couch as his limbs go akimbo, an arm tossed around Seamus’ shoulders, a leg pressed firmly against his knee.

“So did I do okay, Jordan?” He asks in a voice that comes out softer that he’d intended. It has to reach the others but it’s only Jordan’s ears that it’s supposed to, and the other boy doesn’t move at first. His gaze is lidded, soft, and he’s got a tired smile on his face as he asks him,

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I wanted to make your birthday better than the shitty one your parents gave you. Did it work?”

Right now his limbs feel heavy, his mind is in another dimension all together and wherever Jordan is pressed against him is scorching hot. This is, in Seamus’ opinion, about the best thing he could give Jordan, this peace. But he needs to know.

“Yeah, Seamus.” Comes the smallest, smallest voice from beside him. The hand on his shoulder twitches to life and fingers find the nape of his neck and the soft hair on top of it. Seamus relaxes into the touch. “Yeah, it worked.”

//

The music and good times extend well into the night, probably a bit further than they even should. It’s about when Jordan starts to check his phone in paranoia of his parents’ reciprocation for being out so late that ringleader James calls it a night, picking up emptied bottles and discarded wrappers and herding his quarry towards the stairs.

“Come back any time, dude.” Aleks says to Jordan, who waves a polite goodbye and says he’ll do just that, thanks. Seamus thanks him as well for the good time, and then they’re heading back up, out into the real world.

“I should piss before I go.” James says when they’re about two steps out the door. Seamus could strangle him, but his brain is only just fading off of all the chemicals he’s pumped into it tonight, so he waves him off to go back in as he and Jordan plop down on the small rocking chair out on the porch. The night is warm and forgiving and the first lines of insects are just starting up their songs, calling for mates and bats alike to head out for them.

The moon hangs low in the sky, just high enough to kiss the tops of the mountains that encircles the town, and the stars that do make it through the city’s light pollution twinkle brightly.

“Happy birthday, Jordan.” Seamus sighs, letting his heavy head fall on the boy’s shoulder. Jordan stills, then relaxes.

“Thanks.” He says. Then there’s a pause in which the crickets and cicadas build sounds around them, for them, and then Jordan’s voice again, more hesitant this time.

“Hey, Seamus?”

“Yeah buddy.”

“Why…why did you pick me, that night at the party? What made you do it?”

Seamus lifts his head, studies what he can see of Jordan’s face in the moonlight. He’s looking straight on ahead, but his eyes aren’t focused on anything.

It’s not an easy question to answer. Even if Seamus thinks back to that loud, messy night it’s hard to piece together all the events, even if Jordan’s worried little frame is the most prominent memory he has. Seamus thinks for a moment, wading through the memories until the silence has gone on too long, and he looks at him.

“Because you were alone.” He says softly. “And I was lonely. And when I looked at you, it felt like you were the only one there who was as miserable as I was, and you know what they say about misery and company.”

Jordan listens to this, takes it all in. He nods then, saying, “Oh.”

Then he turns to Seamus and his expression is unreadable, either by how dark it is or by how wet and sloppy Seamus’ brain is or just because Jordan’s face is hard to read. Maybe all of the above.

“Did you ever regret it?” He asks, an angry cicada answering him first.

But Seamus doesn’t have to think hard about this question; the answer floats unbidden to the surface.

“No.” He says. “Never, not once.” Then, “How about you?”

Jordan keeps his eyes trained on Seamus for a second before looking away, dropping his head down to look at his hands.

“No.” he replies. “Never, not once.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Go you motherfuckers. Yeah, that’s right, run. Yeah, you’re on the defensive now, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Ha! Ha ha h- OH FUCK.”

Seamus’ line of vision with the television has not been broken in nearly fifteen minutes. Distantly, were his body a thing he could feel, he’s sure that his knees and ankles would be sore from being stoic for so long, and that his back would be starting to get a slow burn at the base because he’s been hunching.

Doesn’t matter.

Beside him, Jordan is very much the same. He can’t see him really, nothing but a red smudge in his world that is otherwise only occupied by the tv and the whirring of the x-box fan. But on screen Jordan’s somewhere in front of him, poised with a bow and reigning hell down upon James, who yelps and screams as a volley of arrows splice through his character.

Seamus, still crouched in the bushes where he’d led the boy, is well out of the way of fire.

At the top of the screen an angry red countdown from ten begins, and Seamus is vaguely aware that James is still on his bed, furiously cursing the Matthewson and O’Doherty bloodlines, but he can’t hear him. Can’t hear anything but the sweet, supple choking sounds of the character on screen as the attack ends, and James stumbles in a heady circle, right off a muddy riverbank and into a near bye river.

The timer reaches one, and the screen fades black.

“TEAM ONE IS THE VICTOR”

And that’s when Seamus snaps back to the real world.

On the bed, James has finished his raging spree and is now coarsely clutching a pillow to his chest, flicking his controller to the edge of the mattress and complaining tightly, “Stupid broken game.”

Slowly Seamus unwinds, laughing sharply at his brother’s pain but also hissing as his joints and ligaments protest as he stretches. Beside him, Jordan happily bounces his fist off of Seamus’ shoulder, and puts his hand up for a high five.

Jordan’s arm is, of course, about a mile longer than Seamus’ and the smack that comes from skin-to-skin contact is the sound of Seamus’ hand slapping against Jordan’s wrist, but it’s a victory high five all the same.

“Good game, James.” Jordan offers smugly, probably just to hear the boy simmer.

“Yeah man, good game.” Seamus adds on cheekily.

“I hate both of you. Individually and as a team.” James says and Seamus shrugs.

“I’ll learn to live with it somehow.”

“I won’t lose sleep over it.” Jordan replies, and James warns them to both shut the fuck up before they’re never allowed in his room again.

“Alright, alright.” Jordan says, getting to his feet. “I’m dying of thirst, is it alright if I go get something to drink?”

James says “No.” Just as Seamus replies “Only if you bring me back Doctor Pepper.”

Jordan ignores James, as he has now been taught to do now, and points at Seamus. “Got it.”

He stretches for a second, then moves to step over Seamus’ outstretched legs, dropping a hand on to Seamus’ head as he does so. It had been an accident, probably at least, but once the fingers are there they curl playfully on his scalp and then retract, patting him like a dog.

“Hey!” Seamus says, ducking under his hand. But Jordan’s already leaving and laughing a ‘heh heh heh’ under his breath as he goes.

“Don’t touch my hair.” Seamus shouts, the words following Jordan down the hall. A second later Jordan’s voice bounces back to him, “Get a haircut!”

Seamus is well aware that Jordan’s probably out of hearing range right now but he doesn’t let that stop him, raising his voice to say “Me? You’re one to talk! It looks like some fucking creature is trying to get out from under your hat. Probably a fuckin’ cat or something.”

His voice decreases in volume as he goes on and Jordan doesn’t reply. As Seamus picks his controller back up to skip through the menu screen again, he feels James’ presence at his back, like he’s being stared straight through.

He turns, looking up at his brother.

James has got possibly the most smug expression he’s ever had on his face, and that’s saying a lot. His eyes are lidded knowingly and the smirk on his lips is almost eerie, how cloyingly pleased it is. Seamus feels the need to duck, just to get out from under his gaze.

“What?” He asks.

“So what’s goin’ on there?” He asks. When Seamus doesn’t respond, James’ gaze flits up to the open doorway and then back down to him. Then once more. “’S goin on between you two?”

“Oh, god.” Seamus says, done with this conversation before it can even start. “Don’t. Don’t do this now, please, I’m having a nice time.”

Steadily the smugness drains from James’ face, and he looks almost tired as he shakes the last of it off.

“Seamus,” he says, “Come on. I’m trying to be rational here but you’d have to be fucking blind not to see-“

“There’s nothing.” Seamus cuts him off. “It’s not like that and it never was. We _fucked_  and it wasn’t like that, so stop it.”

James reels back, eyebrow rising at Seamus’ tone. His voice is already so bunt normally, but steeped in this layer of annoyance it goes to a completely different level, something that borders on threatening. James settles his shoulders and stops trying to be playful, instead leaning back.

“You’ve been on this since me and Jordan started hanging out outside of school and I put up with it because it’s literally impossible for you not to be a shit, I get it. But just leave it alone now. It’s not funny anymore.”

This riles James up. “Seamus there’s a difference between those jokes and now, man. Like, I’m really not trying to invade your privacy or be cruel, I really honestly think you should take a step back and,”

“I’m done.” Seamus says, dropping the controller just so he can take the smallest bit of pleasure from it bouncing off the ground. “No more, it’s over.” And he starts to get to his feet.

He’s not two steps towards the door though before James’ voice fires back at him, equally aggressive, equally sharp. “Seamus, you ever hear of this thing called letting it go? How about moving on, that ever occur to you?”

And Seamus feels his spine tense, feels the wave of defensiveness physically take him.

“That’s rich, coming from you.” He says it just to watch the fire in James’ eyes die. But it doesn’t. If anything that provokes James more and he shakes his head slowly, running a hand through his hair in annoyance.

“Oh no you fucking don’t.” He snaps, voice barely contained. “Do not play that card on me today. I have apologized every day for a year and you can  _not_ pretend that you’re mad at me again every time it gets brought up.”

Seamus crosses his arms, leaning on the doorway. One, like hell he can’t still be mad about it. But he isn’t, he isn’t.

“I’m not mad at you.” He explains sharply. “But this isn’t something you get to weigh in on. One, because of before. And two, you’re wrong. You are wrong.”

He can tell James is just about to suck in a breath and let Seamus hear how not wrong he is, but then Jordan appears in the door, a drink in each hand. Seamus drops his stance in a second, not about to let Jordan in on why they’re fighting. The air is too tense to pretend they weren’t arguing a second ago, but as Jordan toes his way into the room Seamus snaps his gaze to James’ and James averts his eyes.

_Don’t say a thing._

“Everything okay?” Jordan asks carefully, setting the drinks down on James’ nightstand and looking between them. Seamus swallows the feelings instantly, a practiced motion, and nods. James takes a breath like he’s about to go off, but instead lets it out in a slow, steady stream.

“Brother shit, nothing important.” He says.

“…Alright.” Jordan says carefully.

For a minute no one says anything and two pairs of eyes land on Seamus’ shoulder where he hovers in the doorway. He’d been more than ready to storm out if necessary. But the fire has been corralled, at least momentarily. He walks back across the room and grabs a cup off the nightstand, taking a sip.

“’Nother round?” He asks once he lowers the glass. Jordan, watching him like he’s viable to go off at any second carefully lowers himself back to the ground, and a second later James tepidly agrees.

They set up a new match and Jordan, basking in the tension, says up to James, “So James, ready for another takedown from team Jormus?”

Seamus turns to scoff. Anything to take his mind away from where it is now. “Jormus? Hell no, your name is not going to be first. We can be team Seadan.”

“Shay-dan?” Jordan whines, and Seamus cracks the slightest smile. Jordan’s presence is sapping away the anger that’s knotted his body and Seamus relaxes, no longer feeling the heat of his pulse down to his toes. “No, that sounds terrible.”

“Worse than Jormus? No, no.”

“If we were Yiddish it would be pronounced Yormus, that do anything for you?”

“No actually, and I’m taking this opportunity to announce that you have been dropped from team Seadan, and that I’m currently scouting for new teammates. Signups begin tomorrow.”

“Seamus!”

He knows James is staring. He can feel it like real heat at the nape of his neck, and the fact that he doesn’t even try to chip into the joke tells volumes. But Seamus won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him. Instead he trades back and forth jabs with Jordan until the match starts, until his focus no longer needs to be based in reality.

But even then he can’t give the game his full attention. Not when James remains cold and stoic on the bed above him, well until after the match ends, well until after Jordan goes home.

//

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” Jordan says as he sits down for lunch the following Monday. His face is bright and pleased and Seamus cocks his head slightly, acknowledging him.

“Oh yeah? I hate surprises.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Jordan says. “But you’ll like this one.”

Which sounds like a challenge to Seamus, but he doesn’t contest any further. Instead he leans back and sweeps his arm in front of him in a “go ahead” motion, and Jordan leans in closer, clearly pleased with himself.

“So you know that old hunk of junk laptop I got from you a couple weeks ago? It’s good as new and ready to be picked up whenever.” Then he cocks his head and smiles, clearly proud.

“Huh, no shit.” Seamus breathes, impressed.

“Yup.” Jordan preens. “It wasn’t in too bad of shape really, just needed a couple of quick fixes. Now, it’ll never be the gaming computer of your dreams I’m afraid, but it’s still pretty decent. You won’t have to use the same computer as your mom anymore, at least.”

“I just can’t believe you actually did it.” Seamus says. “And not like I didn’t think you could do it, just I totally forgot that thing even existed.” Then he pauses, looking down at the table. Jordan watches him, a look of concern on his face.

“I don’t know if I can accept a whole computer though. That’d be kinda weird.”

“But it was your computer to begin with.” Jordan counters. “I just did you a favor, that’s all.”

Seamus can’t argue with that. Still, a whole computer.

“You know what,” Jordan claps his hands together, suddenly pleased with himself. “Consider it an early birthday present. You made my birthday a good one, now I can do the same to you.”

Seamus sighs. Similar to the fact that, no matter what, it was inevitable that Jordan was going to take the computer home to fix it, he has a feeling that he doesn’t get a say in whether or not he’ll get it back. By now it’s easier just to roll with the punches rather than try and keep his pride.

“Sure.” He says finally. “Okay.”

Jordan lights up like a Christmas tree. “Good!” He says. And than instantly, within the same breath, he adds on, “There is one thing, though.”

Isn’t there always.

“And what is that?”

“Would you be… opposed to picking it up at my house?”

Seamus frowns. “Why can’t you just bring it?”

“Uh.” Jordan starts off strong. “There’s just some stuff. That gets. In the way.”

“More in the way than the ten hour drive to your house?”

“It’s not  _that_  far.” Jordan says. “And. Okay. Maybe there’s something else.”

Isn’t there always.

Seamus nods for Jordan to continue and the boy spares a few wayward glances around him. When he starts adjusting his hat around his head, that’s when Seamus knows it’s serious.

“My parents are… Kind of curious about who I’ve been spending all my time with lately. I’ve told them about you and I’ve said really nice things, but they’re really, really insisting on meeting you. I don’t know if it’s because you’re my first friend from, you know, after, or what. But they were hoping to have you over for dinner some time this week so they can see that you’re not a dangerous bad influence on me, or something.”

Seamus stares at him, really gives Jordan a good look. Then he lets a few short huffs of a laugh out of his chest as he says “You crafty devil. You tried to trick me over to your house!”

“Well how do you tell someone that you need your parents permission to continue knowing them? I figured if I got you over and the barbeque was already running you wouldn’t care, and everyone could win.”

“Or you could have just told me that your parents are weirdly strict and wanted to meet me. That also would have worked.”

“Ah, but then you wouldn’t have gotten your computer back.”

“Are you telling me my computer’s in a hostage situation right now? My _birthday_  gift, Jordan?”

Jordan’s eyebrows jump. “Wow, you’re good at that.”

“Years of practice.”

Then Jordan lays his palms flat on the table in front of him and looks Seamus directly in the eyes. Which is a bit more than Seamus was really ready for, but he takes it all the same.

“So you’ll come, though? I can tell them you’ll come?”

“Yes, Jordan, I’ll use up all my frequent flyer miles going to your house.”

“It’s not more than a half hour away, Seamus!”

//

Saturday is what they agree on. A nice, friendly, happy Saturday griller where Seamus will wear nice clothes and try not to mention the time he’d taken Mr. and Mrs. Matthewson’s son out to get high and drunk. A tall order really, but Seamus swears that he can handle it.

When he breaks the news to James that afternoon, he’s more than prepared for the barrage of “So you’re meeting the parents” jokes that will get lobbed his way, but James is uncharacteristically short with him. He nods and takes in what Seamus tells him, then says to have a good time while he’s there. No teasing, no goading, just short little sentences shared before he makes his leave.

This is a result, Seamus has to assume, of their fight from before. James isn’t usually one to drag out old burdens, but Seamus does know that he’d struck hard and deep, and the more he replays the scene in his mind the more he affirms that it was him who played the dirtiest. It’s been…goddamn, it’s been months since he’s thrown that in James’ face and it’s been even longer since he was so cold and stoic about it.

He should be the bigger man and apologize, he knows this. Even if James hadn’t been teasing he still hadn’t meant to hurt, and Seamus had lashed out cruelly.

But saying he’s sorry comes with the risk of James thinking it’s okay to start again. Not with the teasing, which years of exposure has more than numbed Seamus to, but rather the serious stuff. James’ real thoughts on what Seamus should be doing with his free time, and that’s not something Seamus is ready for.

So instead he just avoids him. And at first he’d thought it would be easy because he’s not alone anymore, he’s got Jordan now, but things rarely work out so easy. There’s nothing wrong with Jordan but he’s not the trusted confidant that James has been to him for years, and Seamus can’t even tell him about the fight with James because it all circles back to the worst of it all.

He stands his ground because he doesn’t know how to give it in. The week following is punctuated by cold silences in car rides and the strange sensation of having James’ door closed at the end of his bathroom. Since they’ve moved into the new place they’ve kept the doors open unless necessity had them shut. They’d only bought a single alarm clock because the sound could funnel the information from one room to another, and most of all they’d always had an open channel to talk, even if one of them wasn’t fully there. But now James closes it manually, day and night and every moment in between.

And Seamus lets him.

//

Saturday arrives unceremoniously and all things considered, Seamus is excited.

He knows he has no reasons to worry about Jordan’s parents, the boy had spent the week reassuring him that just because they’d raised him to be…whatever the hell it is that Jordan is, it doesn’t mean they’re particularly judgey. More than anything they just want to see the kind of person their son has started orbiting around, probably so they can decide what sit-down family talk to have with him next.

Seamus had asked if he was allowed to swear over there, and Jordan had said no. Other than that tragedy however, Seamus is assured that as long as he stays cool and polite, everything should go over well.

Seamus gets a ride over to Jordan’s place from his mother, and not sitting opposite of James in his trash heap feels particularly alien today. His brother hadn’t been there to psyche him up before he’d left, and he hadn’t even teased him once about how he was supposed to ask Jordan’s dad for permission to ask his son’s hand.

Riding over, it feels like there’s a large chunk of the experience missing now, even as they pull down a long, windy road, past houses that are nearly triple the size of Seamus’ own.

Seamus’ mother tells him to behave, he assures her she’ll hear from the chief of police by the end of the night, and then with a loud shut of the car door he’s walking up the smooth stone path of the house where Jordan’s parents’ car is parked.

Jordan bursts out of the door before Seamus can even knock, and that’s about the time Seamus knows his excitement was displaced.

//

“First thing I need you to know, Seamus,” Jordan starts off as he ushers the boy off of the porch and down on to the lawn. There’s a small intersection of his tall stone home where there are no windows, and that’s where Jordan takes him. Comforting. “Is that I didn’t know any of this until a few minutes ago, I swear. Okay?”

Hardly. “Okay.”

He looks positively flushed. His ears are red and the nervous energy he’s radiating is making Seamus jittery. Seamus feels the need to look around and check for fluttering curtains in the house somewhere, as though they’re being spied on right this very second.

“They didn’t want you over to see if you were a bad influence.” Jordan says. It almost sounds like there’s shame in his voice. “Just today, like half an hour ago Seamus, they sat me down and told me that if I’m seeing someone, it’s okay with them.”

It takes a second for the gears in Seamus’ mind to tick over. Then they do.

“Oh no.” God. Dammit.

Jordan puts up his hands to stop Seamus before he can turn around and leave for the nearest bus stop. The temptation remains, though.

“I told them several times that it’s not the case and that they are not to bring it up to you because it’s severely weird, and they promised they wouldn’t.”

“But do they actually believe that you and I aren’t dating?” Seamus asks, crossing his arms and looking up at Jordan impatiently.

Jordan pauses, not a good sign.

“I don’t think so.” He says with an air of defeat. Seamus groans, ‘ugh,’ and Jordan looks like he’s ready to crumble.

“I’m sorry, Seamus.” He says. “But I made them promise they wouldn’t bring it up and it wouldn’t feel right, having you in that atmosphere unknowingly.”

Seamus, dumbfounded, just shakes his head. If this were happening normally, not off the heels of a week or so long fight with his brother about this same very thing, Seamus might be a little, a little able to handle this. But as of right now he feels betrayed and scorned in a way he can’t put his finger on, not by unwilling participant Jordan, but rather the universe at large, who insists on testing his patience.

But Seamus is miles away from home and Jordan is a throwaway comment from groveling on his knees for Seamus’ forgiveness, and from the back of the house the strong smell of barbeque wafts forward, making Seamus’ clenched stomach groan.

“At least you told me.” Seamus sighs, and Jordan looks ready to punch the air in success. “But what the fuck honestly? What have you even been telling your parents about me to make them think that?”

The pair starts up the lawn to the porch again, Jordan bustling a little forward so that he can open the door for Seamus. As they make their way inside, Jordan shrugs and looks back.

“I dunno. The only thing they’d tell me when they talked to me about it was how much I’ve been smiling lately.”

//

Jordan’s house is so unmistakably Jordan, it’s bizarre.

Of course, first things first, one of the three Mass Effect named cats is longing on a stairwell as the pair walk inside, Seamus thinks it’s Shepard. Dotted around the living room and dining rooms are tiny pieces of hunting memorabilia, not so much as to make the place feel like a shack in the middle of the woods, but just enough to suggest that the people here like to spend their weekends in trees eating pine nuts. The tv in the living room is massive and an Xbone is stacked on top of a ps4 there, and of course there are photos of Jordan _everywhere,_ the pride and joy of the Matthewson bloodline, no doubt.

Jordan leads Seamus through the house and to a pair of double glass doors, where outside on a wooden deck a man and a woman chat listlessly. A big white retriever circles around their feet. A long green lawn stretches out in front of them, a pool still covered in blue tarp a little more out. It’s so clean and middle-America, like a fifties post card, that Seamus is almost put off by it.

If James were here, he’d be telling Seamus that he was gonna marry into this family if Seamus didn’t.

Jordan pushes open the sliding glass door and leads them back outside. The sound makes both the adults look up, already wearing their polite smiles and waving their friendly hands.

For one glorious, single second, Seamus balances the merits of looking Jordan’s father straight in the eyes and saying “I’ve messed around with your son before, but we’re not a couple.”

The idea honestly gives him goosebumps, but instead he nods an equally polite hello and introduces himself.

“Hi, hello.”

“Hello.” Says to the man who must be Jordan’s father and most certainly the source of the boy’s height. Seamus feels dwarfed by him as he reaches out to shake his hand. “Seamus, right?”

“Yep.” Seamus responds.

“Nice to meet you, Seamus.” Mr. Matthewson says, “Burgers or dogs?”

He’s referring of course to the grill that simmers a few feet away, loaded with backyard foods and smelling fantastic. Automatically Seamus’ mouth opens and he says with a pleasant smile, “Oh I would never eat a dog, that’s extremely unethical.” And the afternoon begins.

 

Much like their son, the Matthewsons are not a hard people to get along with. As soon as Seamus finds the parameters to slip cleanly into in conversation and mannerisms, it’s all but too easy to charm them, making them laugh and fawn over him as well. He keeps his responses short but polite, he keeps his elbows off the table, he pets their dog Bailey and doesn’t say a thing when her tongue knocks his glasses to the floor, and they love him.

This might be fun, honestly, if every action and kind smile thrown his way wasn’t overshadowed by the knowledge that the two are just waiting, busting at the seams, for Jordan to take Seamus’ hand and tell them that they have an announcement.

But he manages.

It’s fun to see Jordan trying to operate in this element as well, as clearly Jordan being around his parents and Jordan when he’s around Seamus are two strange, different beasts. Around Seamus he’s open, lax and more than a little bitey. Compared to the nice, reigned in host he is at their meal, who talks about tests he’s confident about and the chores he’ll be sure to do tonight before even looking at the x-box, he’s a whole other person.

But things go well, Seamus thinks. Even when things turn over from the polite introductory stage to the hardcore grilling of Seamus’ person, things could be worse, he decides.

“So you and Jordan met at school, huh?” Mrs. Matthewson asks, stabbing into a grilled asparagus with her fork.

“Mmhm, during lunch.” Seamus says, lying cleanly through his teeth. He and Jordan hadn’t even discussed how to lie about this, but Seamus at least has the forethought not to say, no actually, it was at a party we both got smashed at.

“That’s so nice.” The woman sighs. “After Jordan’s whole ordeal school got really lonely for him, and it’s so nice that he was able to reach out and find a friend like himself.”

_Thank you, mysterious gay boy, for befriending my son._

“It was nice meeting Jordan, too.” Seamus says, not giving the latter half of her statement one iota of recognition. “I hadn’t had anyone to sit with at lunch, actually, until he came along.”

That was a freebie, and he can see by the way Mrs. Matthewson’s eyes light up, it worked. What’s a more proud achievement than your own son befriending the school hermit.

Actually, that statement would have more charm to it if it weren’t so true. Damn.

“So, Jordan.” Mr. Matthewson says, and Jordan looks up from where he’d been sitting from beside Seamus. “Have you told Seamus about your trip next weekend?”

A trip? Seamus looks over at Jordan, who gives a slight shake of the head.

“Oh, no.” He says. “Seamus isn’t really into that kind of thing, I don’t think he’d be interested.”

“Well you don’t know that.” His mom coerces him.

“Yeah Jordan, you don’t know that. “ Seamus coos. God, the highlight of this day so far has been making Jordan wriggle. “What trip?”

For the first time that evening a tiny sliver of attitude washes over Jordan’s face, Seamus is relieved to see it.

“I’m going upstate to do a little camping next weekend. About three days of nothing but the rocks and the dirt and your own thoughts. Sound fun, you in?”

“Oh geeze you were right, that sounds terrible.”

This earns a chuckle from the peanut gallery, which Seamus pats himself on the back for. Jordan chances a ‘told you’ against the gazes of his parents, and he escapes without reprimand.

“I was the same way, Seamus.” Mrs. Matthewson adds on a moment later. “I never thought I could leave technology behind that. But you’d be surprised how much things free up when you’re away from all of life’s…fiddle-faddle.”

Will Seamus challenge her? Will he reply in the way he wants to, which is to tell her he’s not going on a mountain unless there’s a lodge there that houses people dragged along on terrible, awful camping trips?

Nah.

“I dunno, that’s not really what I’m about.” Seamus says, never intending to give it another second of thought. He turns to Jordan. “Thanks for the invite, I’ll keep you posted.”

“Oh I’m sure you will.” Jordan says, splicing into a bratwurst, charred black.

// 

“Yeah, I’ll just head up and look for him. Okay, thanks.”

Seamus wicks excess palm-sweat onto his Jeans as he turns towards the front of the house, rounding a corner and taking the stairs up quickly. His footfalls land quiet on the padded steps and the only thing he seems to disturbs as he makes his way over the landing at the top of the staircase is the infamous Tali, who sniffs distainfully in acknowledgement as he passes her by.

Turn left and it’s the first door, Jordan’s father had told him.

Ten minutes earlier, after the dishes had been cleared away and everyone had migrated back inside, Seamus had been offered a more proper tour of their illustrious home and Seamus had agreed. Some time during that, Jordan had excused himself to the bathroom, and had since to return.

So when Seamus and Jordan’s father had finished circling the downstairs area, the den, the parlor, the office with the customary mounted deer’s head, the man had excused Seamus from his lecture and given him directions to Jordan’s room upstairs, where he could await the boy’s return without having to make any more teeth-aching empty conversation.

A quick peek into a slightly ajar door confirms that this is, in fact, a place where only Jordan would inhabit.

Much like the rest of Jordan, the room is as if a mountain recluse was sharing a space with a hyperactive gaming-obsessed fourteen year old. One sweep of the room reveals that there are small video game figurines sharing a desk space with a cup that looks to be carved out of real deer antlers. Posters from Mass Effect release events are hung on the same wall as a thrift store painting of a herd of deer stamping through a snowdrift. Occasionally there’s a picture frame scattered around the space, Seamus spots a picture of Monica among the clutter, and then a few more steps in is the laptop, out and waiting for him.

“Having fun snooping?” Comes a voice from behind him, and Seamus nearly jumps a foot in the air.

“Jesus, Jordan!” Seamus yelps as he deals with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Jordan waits in the doorframe with crossed arms and a smug face, cackling a light ‘heh’ and Seamus’ expense. “Scared the crap outta me.”

“Sorry.” Jordan says. “Couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“You  _should_  be sorry.” Seamus says with a grimace. “But only because you abandoned me down there, what the hell man?”

Jordan gives him a sympathetic loll of the head. “Just had some business to take care of, sorry. Did everything go okay?”

“Your father asked me what I thought of the recent Michael Sam scandal and I told him I didn’t know who that was. Also; who is Michael Sam.”

Jordan just laughs at this, making his way over to his bed and plopping down. Seamus follows suit, sinking into the soft springs beside him. It feels good, to be able to breathe again. Jordan’s folks are nice enough and they seem to have taken a liking to him, but the atmosphere is strained with all the pressure to behave, to not slip up and tarnish his reputation forever.

Here, that pressure is nonexistent and Seamus relaxes.

“Are you having an okay time?” Jordan asks then, hands folded in his lap. “You did really well out there, I think they like you a lot.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Seamus says. “At first I was a little nervous about earning their approval and everything, but then I remembered that _you’re_  their son and they love you anyway, so.”

“Seamus!” Jordan whines.

“I’m kidding! I had a nice time. A nice polite, formal time.”

“So do you think you’d be opposed to coming over more often? Not that your place isn’t fun, but I’d like to have you over here sometime. When it gets warm enough we’re gonna take the plastic off the pool, I have some games,”

“Calm down.” Seamus laughs. “You don’t have to give me the hard sell, I get it. They didn’t scare me away, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh.” Jordan says. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Yeah, I guess there’s no need for this to stay a one-sided thing,” Seamus says, and then Jordan’s lips are on his.

God, he’d not even realized how close they were, but now he feels everything. How he’d sat down and sunk in so their shoulders had bumped, how their thighs had been touching. How the air around them had been so thin and light with the relief of privacy, how Jordan hadn’t looked at him once after he’d sat down, his body tense, nervous.

Seamus smells him, the familiarity of his cologne and skin. The brush of his stubble against his chin, he thinks he can hear a rabbit’s heartbeat somewhere, but whether or not that’s Jordan or him, he can’t tell.

He sits there, stunned, for a second as Jordan nudges his lips up and a hand bridges the divide between Jordan’s lap and Seamus’ own.

_Oh no._

“N-no. No, no no no.” Seamus breathes in the next second, the world returning back to regular speed and color as he reels back, nearly toppling off the bed as he does so. “N-no, Jordan, that’s not. I didn’t.  _No_ ,  _not you too_.”

The surprise that flared in the depths of Jordan’s eyes soon fades into purer shock, then regret as Seamus moves. His mouth opens and a dry, strangled sound escapes from it but Seamus is already backing up, head spinning. Jordan starts sputtering apologies just as quick, getting to his feet and making for the door.

“It’s okay, Jordan.” The phrase churns automatically and he pauses in the doorframe. “I’m not upset. It’s okay.”

It’s very clearly not okay, but the shock is easing out of his body in waves, and every second is a second closer to coming down, planting his feet on firmer ground.

“I’m so sorry, Seamus. I thought, I mean I hoped, I didn’t want to hurt your-“

“You didn’t.” The world’s stopped spinning. His stomach is a whirring pit and he can’t look into Jordan’s eyes, but he’s okay. “I’m not even upset, I promise.”

“It doesn’t look like it.” Comes Jordan’s voice. “I’m sorry, I was wrong. I thought.”

“Stop. Stop saying you’re sorry.” Seamus says. The word sounds tinny in his ears.

“I think I’m gonna head home early, if that’s okay with you, Jordan.” Seamus says to the carpet. A sad noise answers him.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“I know you didn’t. I’m not upset. But I. I can’t stay.”

And then he’s out the door.

 

There’s a bathroom at the far end of the hall and that’s where Seamus sits, the skin on his arms raised, his body a pit of chaos. Quickly, unsteadily, he fishes his phone out from his pocket and hits the first contact that comes up, 1AJames.

He picks up on the fourth ring, thankfully. Seamus can’t put together enough thoughts to consider what would happen if he didn’t. But audio calls have always meant business between them, something not to be ignored or overlooked like a text can.

“Hello?” James’ voice is dry, irritable.

“Jordan kissed me. He fucking. Goddamnit.”

There’s silence on the other end, then a saccharine giggle that feels like ice-cold metal on Seamus’ ear. “Well it’s about time,” James is trying to say, but Seamus intercepts him.

“Come pick me up. Pick me up, please.”

And at first he hears James’ laugh die out, and he waits for the cold reprimand, the exasperation, the anger. But something in the way his tone won’t stay stable must have fallen heavy on James’ ears because a second later his voice is back, more serious than before.

“Are you gonna be okay waiting there?”

“Yeah.” Seamus says, lifting a hand to trace around his lips. He can still feel the pressure there, the weight. His heart is pounding. “I’ll be okay. I just can’t stay here.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” James replies, all business. “Where’s Jordan?”

“I left him in his room. I told him I wasn’t mad. I’m not mad. But,”

“I got it man. I’m heading to my car now. Do you need me to stay on?”

There’s a light tap at the bathroom door, Jordan’s voice is waify as it slips under the hardwood. “Seamus.” He’s saying. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He says to both James and Jordan. He tries to make himself mean it.


	6. Chapter 6

Edwin Cardona’s accent meant that occasionally the final letters in certain words he spoke didn’t get pronounced. T’s and D’s seemed to be the most common offenders, “Shirt” became “Shir”, “Food” got chopped to “Foo”. Seamus had spent a small amount of time pointing this out to people, it was a favorite little quirk of his after all, and often walked away from doing so surprised, as no one else had really picked up on that before. Hell,  _Eddie_  hadn’t picked up on it.

Then again, he’d thought Seamus had been teasing his accent, not praising it. He’d then pointed out that Seamus had probably only noticed it at all because he was the one who heard Eddie speak the most, that is to say, listened to him the most. And in the very end he was grateful.

One morning, after Seamus had spent the entirety of the night previous in Eddie’s bed, snoring listlessly into a pillow that smelled just like him or into the warmth of the boy himself, Seamus had turned around on the kitchen counter and faced him, head drowsy, eyes lidded.

Eddie had been making coffee, and Seamus said to him, “Hey, give me a kiss.”

With the parents of Eddie’s makeshift family out grocery shopping and his cousin still asleep, Eddie had cautiously toed his way into the parameters made between where Seamus rested his palms flat on either side of him. Seamus had received him graciously, watching the honey-yellow sun spill into the kitchen just over his ear, until all his senses were effectively blocked by the boy tasting his lips. One warm hand found his waist while the other one traced a thin line down from his ear to the pulse on his throat.

Eddie had pulled back, grinning. “I’ll give you every kiss in the world.”

Every kiss in the goddamn worl.

That had been about a year ago, though the memory refuses to fade even a little from Seamus’ mind. It goes into hiding sometimes, dormant and silent if Seamus has left it alone for long enough.  But then Seamus will let his guard down, he’ll be fast asleep or taking the first breath of a strong coffee scent, or Jordan Matthewson’s lips will be pressing wantonly on to his own, and it will snap back into focus, front and center.

That memory of Eddie, and every other one that covers the drained and tired recesses of Seamus’ mind, leaves him tired and haggard. It makes his stomach pull again, it makes the tips of his limbs feel cold. The memories fill his lungs with cotton and more than anything, really, they just make him sad.

Seamus had met Eddie in sophomore year of high school.

He had shown up seemingly out of nowhere, one day Seamus had returned from Christmas break and in his Econ 2 class was this boy, taller than him with short black hair and bright brown eyes and the widest grin Seamus had ever seen.

(Though, technically, the boy had bustled in five minutes after the bell had rung and apologetically darted to the back of the class, but he was still there, so.)

Seamus, who had been attending this school for two years already and had grown up with most of the other students, had been somewhat interested in the new kid. When he spoke his words were heavily accented and he was loud, boisterous, excitable. Running the numbers now, it still doesn’t make sense why Seamus was so drawn to him at first, but Eddie had told him the universe rarely operates under reason. And even if that was the cheesiest fucking thing he’d ever heard, Seamus had still gone for it.

Friendship had blossomed between the two at the back of class, back when Seamus had been more open about how much he goddamn hated school. Usually his dry remarks and sarcastic rebuttals uttered under his breath would earn him a smile from the person next to him, maybe a light chuckle if he really delivered.

When he let loose his first insult in front of Eddie, the boy’s face had lit up and he was choking back laughter for minutes. It was about then Seamus decided this boy was worth his time.

By the time the teachers of their four (out of six,) mutual classes learned that the two were a powerhouse of trouble it was too late. Either boy would be placed on opposite end of the classroom but it didn’t matter, one way or another there’d be a disturbance at the far right of class one day, and a minute later another boy near tears in laughter at the other end.

 Eddie gravitated towards Seamus quickly and for good, and Seamus was happy to have him around. It wasn’t long until the two started stopping by each other’s lockers to say hey in between classes, then started meeting outside of school, then became almost inseparable.

Seamus hardly remembers the courtship. Maybe that’s because there’d hardly been one. The lines drawn between friendship and More Than That were thin from the get go, what with Eddie wearing his heart on his sleeve at all hours of the day and Seamus being so willing to roll with his punches. One day Eddie was sleeping on the floor of Seamus’ old bedroom during their regular weekend nights spent at each other’s houses, and then something was different, and then the other boy would be breathing into Seamus’ collarbone while gently running a hand through his hair.

Seamus hates movie clichés. He’s long been tired of goopy romance stories and the idea of perfect soul mates and the ever-present search in so many people’s lives to find The One. He disregards it as overreactions and make-believe, and instead stands on the principles that anything, anything at all, requires the effort put into it to stay working and together.

But god he’d loved that fucking boy. Easily, happily, without stress or debate or consequence at first. He’d loved him.

And  _god_  had he been blindsided when it all went to shit.

Seamus had been out to his family since he was old enough to differentiate the meaning between straight and not. Girls were cool, nice, whatever, but he’d calmly figured out and explained that they weren’t for him before he’d even turned eleven.

  
Eddie, on the other hand, had come into Seamus’ life around the tail-end of his own journey of self, as he’d settled in on the conclusion that  _everyone_ was pretty damn amazing, and he didn’t see any reason to stick to any singular type.

But whereas Seamus’ family had taken this in stride, supporting him and never much making a big deal out of the matter, Eddie’s family was… a bit more set in the ways of their Catholic upbringing, and Eddie lazily pinning Seamus to the living room couch for kisses during Sunday afternoons probably wouldn’t go over so well at his house.

Eddie had hung on a precipice since he’d shown up, after all.

The reason he’d appeared out of nowhere was because he’d lived a decent portion of his life in Florida (another large chunk in Puerto Rico as well, and a small few weeks in Illinois where he’d been born.) but due to some discrepancies with the school board and an unshakeable wanderlust, he’d been shuttled over to Colorado for the remainder of his Sophomore year of high school. He’d stay with his aunt and uncle there and if things went well he’d return to Florida over the summer and then finish up his education in CO the following years.

As long as his grades improved and he stayed out of trouble he’d be welcome there with open arms, and after he’d met Seamus he’d promised to stay as long as he possibly could.

Fuck that promise, honestly.

Fate started to close its jaws around the end of last May. The finale of their affair had left Seamus feeling like he’d been gutted, but the first blow dealt by the world only bruised.

Seamus’ stepfather had come home one day and sat his family down, and together he and Seamus’ mother had described the town they’d be moving to over the summer, one that was bigger and cleaner, and closer to his new job. They didn’t have a house picked out yet but they were circling the market, and would probably be out of their old city by late June.

That had been tough to swallow, but Seamus had taken it in stride. After all, it had been hard to protest without any grounds, and he doubted that announcing his secret boyfriend to his parents would change anything, only risk the news getting out to the rest of the world. So he bit his lip and nodded kindly, and spent the rest of the night texting Eddie, promising,  _promising_ , things wouldn’t go downhill.

They made plans for how they would meet and how often they would visit. They talked about Seamus maybe visiting Florida some time over the summer or Eddie staying an extra month to see him out. It was obvious from the get go that this was a major, major hurdle that both of them would have to get over, but they would be strong about it. They’d see it through. This was worth fighting for.

That had been part one.

Part two had firmly wrapped its sharp teeth around Seamus’ heartstrings and yanked and yanked until he was empty, cored, and didn’t have an ounce of fight left in him.

It’s taken Seamus a while to be able to admit to himself, but they had been getting sloppy around the time things started to go downhill. James was the first person to find out about their relationship outside of themselves, and with that came their tepid permission for the news to be ‘kind of’ shared. The first mistake.

They didn’t mind anyone knowing, and honestly anyone with a pair of eyes could see that they were extremely close. But the degree of which was left solely up to the viewer. As long as Eddie’s relatives didn’t find out it didn’t really matter who knew, as the most solid and reliable piece of gossip out there was ‘The Mexican foreign exchange student and James Wilson’s brother are together, I heard once.”

And they were fine with that. It gave them permission to sit ridiculously close at social gatherings and not gather suspicious glances. Eddie, that forever tactile son of a bitch, was always touching Seamus in some way, a hand on his shoulder or a nudge or a poke. And Seamus could say pretty much anything he wanted to Eddie, something about the size of his dick or how he was gonna divorce him one day for the alimony, and with the way Eddie would laugh in response no one could really tell if they were just close, or  _that close_.

People would ask them or James about their status and everything would come with a smile and a shrug, it’s, you know, whatever. Just don’t bring it up to Eddie’s cousin because his family doesn’t like that kind of stuff, and they’ll have to knock it off and quit having fun if someone finds out.

Here’s the twist: he found out.

At 12:07am on June second, the spillover night of his birthday, a boy named Nick passed his over phone to an obliterated James Wilson. James, with his head lolled back over the arm of a couch and three empty shot glasses on the table beside him, took a short look at the screen before breaking out into a tight, wiry laugh. The photo was of him, some ridiculous expression on his face, eyes bright red from the camera flash and stuck in an impressive pose for someone as drunk as he was.

“Put that on facebook,” He’d said, and slowly smooth stones tilted down the slope of a steep, steep hill.

It’s hard to see at first, the picture was fairly blurry and the flash had a lot washed out, but uploaded at a larger resolution and seen with sober eyes, it would not be hard to make out the two shapes underneath the doorframe in the background. Seamus’ hair had been longer then, and paired with the hoodie he’d worn around that time and Eddie’s unmistakable frame, the evidence had been damning.

And it was  _James Wilson_  tagged in that picture, friend of everyone. It started to make the rounds that night, and from what Seamus has heard, news had reached Eddie’s family before the sun had risen the following morning. All he knows is that the next day he’d taken one look at the picture on his feed and his blood had gone cold, scrambling to message Nick and demand that he take it down.

He did, paired the act with an apology and insistence he didn’t see it when he’d posted it originally, but the damage was done. Seamus didn’t hear from Eddie all that day, and that night he got a single text with the words, “I’ve got some bad news.”

Seamus doesn’t remember every time he held Eddie’s hand when he could. He doesn’t remember every single kiss, or time that he made Eddie laugh, or every single time he ended a sentence with, “I hate you. I love you.”

But somehow the events that took place over the next two weeks, he remembers in vivid clarity.

Eddie’s family tried not to be cruel about it, but there was not a doubt from the beginning that this wasn’t going to end well. Eddie started off the ordeal by saying that he’d had to come clean, and that he would no longer be seeing Seamus outside of school. A phone call was made to Seamus’ parents by Eddie’s guardians, and he remembers that a lot as well. That was when the helpless feeling really started to boil in his gut as he realized all of this was out of his control.

Like, someone had actually called his parents because he’d misbehaved, and they needed to tattle. Of course, the general reaction to that was surprise that Seamus had kept it a secret, not that he’d dated a boy. When this is what was relayed over to the other side, communications were swiftly cut off there as well.

School was their only respite, the only escape where they could find each other in-between classes and regress to abandoned hallways and bathroom stalls, curling their fingers tight around each others and promising no, no, I swear it will be okay. I miss you, I miss you.

Seamus still texted him often, even though Eddie’s phone was now monitored daily, and Eddie assured him that most of those texts got deleted before ever reaching him. Sometimes though one would make it through, and in the sea of helplessness and anger he would cling to the victory, swear not to let it go.

On a warm Friday in June Eddie was particularly sullen, a sight to see. Even through the worst of this ordeal he’d kept his chin up, found reasons to smile and give words of encouragement, even when there was purely no merit behind them. So to see him downtrodden and muted worried Seamus, who cornered him as much as he could that day, asking what was wrong and how he could help.

“I love you so much, Seamus.” He’d replied.

That night Seamus had texted him frantically, frequently, little things like “Monday will be better. This will be over soon.” Or “I need to see you smile next time we’re together, okay?” or “I miss you so much.”

He’d known something was up, and once again he could do nothing to change it.

When Monday finally rolled around Seamus found himself almost running to his first hour class, chest heaving as he walked in the door waiting to see Eddie there. But he wasn’t. Nor was he in third period, at lunch, or anywhere else he was supposed to be. Seamus spent the entire day steeped in a cold state of dread until finally news reached him.

The previous Thursday and Friday Eddie had stayed behind after school to take the finals he was a week away from taking, his host family citing a ‘family emergency’ that required the boy be flown back to Florida over the weekend.

And that was it, he was gone. Not a word of warning, no goodbye, no finality at all. Just as suddenly as the boy had bounded into Seamus’ life he’d disappeared, and Seamus was left stranded.

Or at least he thought he was, until later that day when his phone had exploded to life in his hands with a torrent of texts. He didn’t recognize the number but the area code was from somewhere around Tampa Bay.

This was supposed to be their upside. Eddie was two thousand miles away but at least the family he lived with now would have him, and more importantly they supported him and were willing to learn.

 In the end, after their first conversation of “I love you I love you I love you I’m sorry but I couldn’t make myself say goodbye,” they’d at least come to the conclusion that this was better. Eddie was safer here, he could be happier and no longer on edge, and they could stay in touch now. They’d already been preparing for a long distance relationship, what would make it so different from before? (The looming knowledge that there would be no reunion for either of them? That plane tickets to Florida were expensive enough to be a joke, and no matter how hard they worked to stay together everything kept ripping, tearing, wrenching them apart? So?)

They did their best; even to the point where they made up a lot of the ground they’d lost.

  
Around this time, Seamus began the healing process towards James. His brother, who had been infinitely sorry since the beginning of the ordeal for jumpstarting it, had long been going ignored by Seamus. He’d groveled, he’d pleaded, he’d gotten angry and then apologized for that anger, and for a while Seamus had blacklisted him from his life. Everyone involved in the departure was dead to him, no exceptions.

But as things started to look up Seamus opened the door again to his brother’s life, and let himself hear his apologies. It had been easy before, to tear James down for singlehandedly ruining everything, but truth be told that just wasn’t the case. He and Eddie had started being more and more careless as well, flirty and suggestive texts went undeleted, items of clothing were shared and swapped. If they’d been at full power of trying to keep themselves a secret then they wouldn’t have put themselves front and center for the camera to see, but there they were.

In the end, nobody had done anything wrong. Everything had happened wrong.

So while Seamus started to heal his relationship with James, who swore to do better by him, who swore to do whatever he could to help, he also began pretending things weren’t thinning between him and Eddie.

Long distance relationships are hard, especially ones that pop up out of nowhere and strike when nobody’s ready. And goddamnit they did everything in their power to stay close and keep at it as best they could. But the distance stretched them thin and they went from texting constantly to maybe daily. Nightly skype chats moved to whenever both of them were on. Sometimes Seamus would jump to attention and check the clock, surprised and unhappy that it was six, seven o’clock pm and it had only just occurred to him to check in.

It was Eddie who called it off in the end. It had to be, because Seamus had spent so long and dug his nails so deep into denial that he’d be hard pressed to ever let it go. The entire situation had drained him, left him up at all hours of the night searching for some way, one singular thing, that he could do to fix anything that had happened, but he could do nothing. All he could do was hold tight and not let go.

It was a short, bittersweet skype call that did it in the end. Eddie had obviously prepared what he was going to say and Seamus sat on the other end, shaking his head and saying no, please, no, until he had no more ground to stand on. Eddie urged him to think of the positives, swore he was doing it for their own good and told him more than once that he still loved him so much, but the fact that this had gone from something easy to a chore was weighing too heavy on him.

They were over.

The fight was lost.

Seamus didn’t blame Eddie in the end. He didn’t blame James, though the breakup did well to halt the healing process and extend it by months. He certainly didn’t blame himself, though there was plenty of times he was sure he could have done more, salvaged it, if only he’d done something differently.

No, in the end he stopped playing blame games. He stopped everything really, and began the slow, strenuous process of picking himself up, which started with finally letting himself fall.

He swore off people, first things first. Letting new people in had always been kind of a challenge to the natural introvert, (Eddie of course being the exception that proved the rule.) but in the wake of everything else he’d been done with it before it had even begun. The kindest blessing in disguise about the fact that they’d uprooted over the summer was the fact that no one at the new place knew his name, and he liked it that way.

Naturally of course, with his horizons firmly shut, Seamus wouldn’t so much as entertain the thought of another romantic partner. There was never any doubt that his heart didn’t stop belonging to Eddie just because they were no longer together, and the idea of getting back up on that horse made him feel ill. Not only because he still loved his old boyfriend though, but because of how they’d fallen apart.

Seventeen years old, parked at the sidelines and unable to do anything, it had scarred him. Even if he wanted to, which he sure as fuck did not, how could he let himself fall in love again if something like before could happen? How could he risk it? One day, he surmised, he’d go out there again and try and feel something. But things as they were now? Nothing was worth chancing a repeat of before.

James worried. Even after he stopped blaming himself and accepted that his brother had a lot of baggage to get over, he still committed himself to the cause of helping him back up. Whether that was dragging him over to friend’s houses or talking him into going to parties, the other boy did whatever he could to try and aid the healing process along.

True, he’d never stopped and considered that his methods for moving forward and Seamus’ were very different, but he was doing his best.

And so when Jordan Matthewson crosses the divide between his personal space and Seamus’, when more than a month’s worth of friendship and flirty jokes and an unspoken bond forged between the pair all makes itself prominent on the other boy’s lips, Seamus feels everything. It all hits him hard in the chest, fear, regret, rage, and he stumbles away, saying no, no, no.

He can’t do this. He can’t risk it. Not this time. Not again.

//

Seamus spends about four minutes in the bathroom after his call with James. He catches his breath, wills his heart rate to slow, and counts to ten a few times before he can think of the last few minutes of his life and not get goosebumps.

Jordan hovers outside the door, dutifully not apologizing anymore as instructed, but worried all the same. Seamus had told him he’d be out soon and that he didn’t have to worry, but the feet outside the door hadn’t departed.

When he does finally emerge Jordan is waiting for him, but Seamus is ready. He sticks out a hand and says very bluntly, “I’m not upset, but I’m going home.” And then he makes his way towards the stairs. Jordan goes down with him and the next half an hour or so is a painful, wrenching experience of making small talk with Jordan’s parents while Jordan hovers around him like a moon.

Seamus makes up some convoluted story as to why his brother is on the way to get him this early, family emergencies are pretty easy cards to play after all, and in no time the hum and grumble of The Baby announces itself just outside. Seamus says a polite farewell to Jordan’s parents, says he’ll see Jordan later, and from about the moment he gets into the car until they reach about halfway home, Seamus’ head is in his hands.

 

//

“Well that could have gone better.”

Seamus steps out of the shower the next day, reaching for a towel on the rack and raising his voice so James can hear him. It’s early in the morning and the boy’s huffing and stumbling out of the bathroom had awoken Seamus a little while ago, prompting him to roll out of bed and get this shit day started.

All the night previous Seamus had been silent, feeling wave after wave of embarrassment and nostalgia take him, dragging him deep into a sleepless night and only ending when a small knock on his door from James had snapped him back to attention. There in the darkness James had offered up a glass of water and his condolences, saying, “I’ll be here when you need me.”

Everything, everything was terrible, but having his brother back was at least something.

Seamus had eventually and fitfully slipped into a dreamless sleep, and the first thing he’d done upon waking was step into the shower and scrub, scrub, scrub the events of the last day away.

“No shit?” James says now, his voice closer to the door. Seamus secures a pair of jeans over his waist and makes for his own room, the sound of the other door opening following him in.

“So, are you okay?” James starts off, testing his waters carefully. Seamus considers this question for a moment before shrugging, tugging a shirt over his frame.

“It’s a lot.” He says first. “But I’ll get through it. He fucking kissed me and I completely freaked out, it hit me hard. I think I scared the shit out of Jordan.”

“Scared the shit out of me.” James says unhelpfully from the door. “You did not sound good on the phone.”

“Ugh.” Seamus hums. “I think it just came out of the blue, you know? And I didn’t know how to handle it at first. God.” A despairing hiss escapes his throat. “Why couldn’t I have just said ‘no thanks, that’s not happening’?”

He knows why. He knows why. He swallows.

“How was Jordan?” James asks, tipping his head sympathetically.

“Worried. He spent the entire time afterwards apologizing and trying to make me comfortable again, I think he thinks that he blew it.”

“Blew what?”

“Our whole friendship thing. When I said goodbye to him the look on his face, I really wonder if he thinks he’ll never see me again.”

James pauses then, not reciprocating Seamus’ dry laugh.

“Will he?” James asks.

Seamus frowns, rolling his eyes at James. “Of course he will. I made one goddamn friend this year, James, I’m not giving up that easily. This was bad but I’m not going back to before.”

“Well I’m happy to hear that.” James says, very parental and sage-like. “But are you gonna let Jordan in on that or are you just gonna let him worry himself into a frenzy?”

Seamus’ phone sits where he’d dropped it on the table last night, turned off around the same time he’d made it home. He has no doubt that if he starts it up his inbox will be full to bursting with messages, but that’s not something he can trouble his mind with right now.

  
“I need to take a Jordan break today.” Seamus says definitively. Truth be told, thinking about Jordan is okay right now, but reading his words or hearing his voice still feels a little intimidating and Seamus would rather let it lie.

“Besides, I don’t need to worry about not seeing him around. I know where he’ll be.”

//

Jordan is waiting for him at the lunch table on Monday with his hands folded and pressed tightly to his lips. Seamus spots him from across the room instantly, but Jordan’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t jump to frenzied attention until Seamus is in his direct line of sight. At first he looks relieved, eyes going shiny for a second as Seamus settles in down in front of him, and the smile that cracks his face is heart-wrenching.

“Seamus.” He breathes. “Oh thank god.”

It is a little jarring to see him. His face up close, his wavering voice, the familiarity of him brings back the memory and makes Seamus’ fingers want to tap. But it’s not as overpowering as before and he rides through it. He nods hello, debating whether to make his face happy or keep his expression neutral.

Jordan wears his happiness for all of ten seconds after that before Seamus watches the fear creep back in, the regret. When he looks up again and speaks his tone is all business and he looks straight into the other boy’s eyes.

“Seamus.” He says. “I am so sorry. It was Dan’s idea, I swear. Ever since we hung out that one time he’s been asking me when I was going to ask you out and it all just went to my head I guess. I never once meant to-“

“It’s fine.” Seamus cuts him off. “I really mean it, it’s okay. I’m not upset. I mean, you could have asked first before you went in for the kill but I’m irresistible, I get it.”

That helps. Jordan stops looking like he’s gonna cry and his hands, white where they’d been clasped together so tightly, go a little pink.

“Look.” Seamus says, putting his hands on the table. “Dating, stuff like that, just isn’t for me right now, okay? This isn’t about you like. At all. I swear.”

He takes his glasses off and wipes them on his shirt, not liking the taste of the next words to come out of his mouth. “You remember Aleks, the guy you met on your birthday?”

Jordan nods.

“One day that guy was talking and mentioned he had an ex named Kevin and I was on that in a second. We were together for almost two months before he broke it off because at the time I could only offer him my body, and he was looking for more. And right now that’s not something I can offer anybody, and I don’t need you going through that too.”

He hates airing his dirty laundry in front of Jordan and he knows if all the dots are connected than their situations aren’t remotely comparable, but he doesn’t know how else to spell it out. Aleks had been because Seamus was wanton, and maybe still bitter enough to try and spite James. But Jordan had kissed him because he cared for him. Jordan had kissed him because Seamus had never given him reason to think he wouldn’t kiss back. Seamus kicks back the thought, powering forward.

“But I’m not upset. Surprised, maybe, but not mad at you.”

Jordan nods at this and looks at his hands, and at the boy in front of him. He lets out a small, shuddery breath.

“So you’re okay.” He says softly.

That’s such a big question, and people have been asking it so long. By now the most default and easy answer of all is yes, and in the long run that will be true. But Jordan doesn’t need to hear yes, he deserves more than that.

“I will be.” Seamus says.

And there’s no way for Jordan to know exactly what that means but he takes the words for what they’re worth, nodding and then reaching beside him.

“I’m glad.” He says as he hauls a bag different from his usual book bag in front of him. He centers it on the table. “I’m glad to hear that, Seamus. But, just in case you weren’t I did come with a peace offering.”

He flips up the front of the bag and the shiny surface of his laptop greets him, and Seamus smiles, chuckling into his hands.

“You were already going to give this to me, Jordan. Give it back to me, even.”

“I had a day to come up with something.” Jordan says. “Cut me some slack.”

“How much slack am I going to have to cut you, Jordan? You’re sucking me dry, here!”

And maybe it’s a little early to joke about it, if the flash of fear that washes over Jordan’s eyes is indicative of anything, but Seamus is confident that this is a start. He has lost so much. So goddamn much. He’s not losing Jordan too.

//

Seamus tries to pretend that things go back to normal after that.

He maintains that he’s open to talking about it no matter what, if only to prove to Jordan that it didn’t get under his skin. A weird tension stays around for the next few days but for the most part, as long as both parties involved ignore it, the incident is as good as forgotten. Seamus asserts that he’s still very open to returning to Jordan’s house sometime as long as they don’t suffer a repeat of the first, and as the week winds down and Jordan’s camping trip looms closer, Jordan asks Seamus if he’d be okay with visiting his and James’ house, one last time before he goes.

Seamus sees no reason to disagree. A few more matches of team Seadan-Yormus against a helpless James will be fun, especially in the looming threat of Jordan becoming the outdoorsman he was always destined to be. Seamus also likes the idea that this is another step of mending, that if they spend more time together again than the stilled wheels will start once again to turn, and that sometimes he won’t stare at Jordan and blink down to his lips for just a second, or that pauses between conversations won’t feel strange, charged.

He doesn’t know Jordan has ulterior motives until the two of them get into his room after school on Thursday and James is still making something in the kitchen. Normally the two would proceed into James’ room and get comfortable on the floor, talking battle strategies or taunting each other or whatever, but today Jordan lags behind, sitting himself in Seamus’ desk chair and remaining silent.

Seamus turns to him, confused. It’s not completely unnatural for there to be silences between them, especially given recent events and all, but this one is different. Pointed, as Seamus crosses his arms and asks, “Hey, you okay?”

The door leading out into the hall is closed, as is the one to the bathroom and James’ room beyond. And there’s not a peep around them save for the distant clatter of James at the other end of the house. Jordan looks conflicted as he makes careful eye contact with Seamus, then says to him,

“Can I ask you something?”

It’s reminiscent, almost immediately, of the first day Jordan was here. When the strangeness between the two was still palpable and they were still wobbling on their footing around each other, but still Seamus had persevered in search of answers. Now Seamus stares back at him and he can already tell that he’s not going to like the next words coming out of Jordan’s mouth, but he’s not going to deny him the chance of asking.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Jordan nods then, Seamus can see how much trouble he’s having getting the words out, how nervous he is. Jordan steeples and ripples his fingers back and forth for a moment before looking up at Seamus from under the rim of his hat as he asks;

“What happened to you.”

Which is a very coarse and unprofessional way of asking someone a question, but Seamus supposes in that moment there’s no better way of asking it. People don’t just have meltdowns like he did when a friend kisses them. People don’t push people away and refuse to call them friends for no reason. People don’t turn into what Seamus has become unprovoked.

Seamus doesn’t entertain the thought of beating around the bush at this, and instead flops his hands at his sides. “You don’t need to know.” He says, and he means it. His burdens don’t need to fall heavy on Jordan’s shoulders.

“You’re right,” Jordan says, “I don’t, and you don’t need to tell me. And if you don’t want to than that’s fine, I promise.”

Seamus is about to butt in then, let him know that they should end it there, move on and stop this all at once. But Jordan keeps going.

“But back then, after everything happened, after you went home and I just had time to reflect on it, I realized something.”

Seamus doesn’t want to know what it is. He wants to be as far away from this epiphany as possible.

“I was mad at myself for kissing you and crossing that line. I was embarrassed, and worried that this was going to ruin everything. But Seamus,” His voice is so careful, “Mostly I was just worried about you. If I’d have known that trying that would have done that to you I never would have gone for it. I mean, I guess if I knew you were gonna say no I wouldn’t have done it either but. I just. I want to know that you’re okay.”

Seamus has never talked like this with anyone but James before. No one else has ever had it in them to look him straight in the eye and say that they’re worried and offer their arm. Seamus is so poised and ready to turn Jordan away but something deep inside him nags, bites away at him and he can’t make himself tell Jordan to let it go.

It’s been so long since Seamus has trusted someone like he trusts Jordan. No one else has the kind of genuine worry and care Jordan has, and no one’s ever put themselves out on a ledge like this, knowing full well it’s Seamus they’re talking to, who can turn and walk away on a dime.

“You don’t have to tell me now, or ever, I know that. But a long time ago I had no one to talk to about what happened to me and how it made me, just me, feel until you came along. You don’t have to trust me when I say that it helps to get it out but if you ever feel like sharing, just remember that I’m there. And I’ll stay here as long as you need me.”

Jordan apparently tires of looking up at Seamus then because a moment later he’s getting to his feet and putting a hand on Seamus’ shoulder. And he should shrug it off but Seamus just stares at it, dumbfounded, and leans so carefully into the pressure there.

“You’re my friend, Seamus, and more than anything I need you to know that I’m here for you. Because I think you’ve been alone for a very long time.”

Every single word hurts. Every single one is jam-packed with empathy and honesty and all the traits that make Jordan Matthewson the good person that he is. Seamus just stares at him there for a moment because he can’t really wrap his brain around the fact that this is happening.

At first it feels to him like there’s nothing in this world he could have done to deserve someone caring about this that much, but even that’s not even true. In giving Jordan that chance that first day at lunch, or even just holding out that beer in front of him and inviting him to talk at the party, Seamus had become the first person willing to give Jordan a chance when he’d had nobody else.

And now Jordan is offering to be that for Seamus as well, and Seamus doesn’t know how to react.

But. Yes he does.

Seamus turns to lock the door behind him, as well as the door that leads to James’ room. If the boy comes by that’ll tell him everything he needs to know, if the muffled voices inside don’t do it for him.

“You’re gonna want to sit down for this one.” Seamus sighs, turning back to Jordan and feeling the weight of the words already hitting him. Tightly locked down memories start to bubble to the surface and he tries to even think of a place to begin. Jordan, nodding once in understanding, moves back to the desk chair and Seamus takes a seat on his bed, letting out a tight, careful breath. A warm breeze washes over his shoulders and he tries to keep his voice level as he begins,

“So there was a boy named Eddie Cardona in my Econ 2 class last year. I loved him.”


	7. Chapter 7

Jordan listens the entire time to what is easily the most important story retelling that the two have shared; maybe seconded only by that time Jordan almost cried talking about how he’d had to give away his cat’s first litter of kittens.

Seamus is surprised really, how easy it is to get the words going once he gets used to having Eddie’s name in his mouth again. Had he given this any premeditation he might have worried that he would cry, or that the memories would be too much too scathing and he wouldn’t be able to get through it, but he manages. There are a few bumps and long pauses in there but he carries through.

It isn’t very long before Seamus realizes he’s not telling this story for Jordan’s benefit anymore, but rather because the words are falling out of his mouth, unbidden and free. Once he gets going he can’t stop, even if he wants to.

But he doesn’t look at Jordan through a lot of it. Instead he chooses to stare at the wall when his voice gets too thick because his throat is tight, or at his hands when the remnants of anger settle in. But there’s no doubt that the boy’s attention is on him there the entire time, though never once interrupting or bringing up counterpoints. When Seamus gets to the nitty-gritty worst of it all he hears a soft, sad sigh come from Jordan’s direction but when Seamus tenses after it, Jordan collects himself again. He listens all the way through until Seamus is staring at his shoes, kicking his feet lightly as he says;

 “And in the end, I just sort of shut down. I stopped talking to people and wanted them to stop talking to me. I got in a relationship for the purely physical aspect of it and hurt someone I liked in the process, and it just cemented the fact that this kind of happiness isn’t for me. Or at least that I don’t want anything to do with it.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said it all out loud and he feels strange. Empty, lighter, though that could just be the lightheadedness of talking so much for such a long amount of time. After it all he just sits back, still unable to look at Jordan because somehow that will solidify the fact that he’s really talked about this with another person. That he’d admitted so freely that he’s been operating under broken methods for this long and frankly, that he doesn’t know any other way to be.

“But I mean,” Seamus backtracks then, pulling his feet up on to the bed because he feels very, very small, “You asked.”

He lets himself steal a small peek at Jordan, and that gets his foot in the door to do a full once over. And the boy looks very sad there, eyes trained on Seamus and hands in his lap, but it’s not a pitying sadness. Understanding colors his eyes and already an itch is growing under Seamus’ skin, willing the boy to speak so he can start living in this strange new world that he’s just stepped into.

And Jordan says, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Seamus repeats. The word is too small for everything that’s just happened in front of them and he wants more. He needs something sturdier than a single ‘okay.’

Jordan follows up after a moment with a slightly more solid, “That sucks, Seamus.” To which Seamus is led to agree, “Yeah, it did. It does.”

And he doesn’t want Jordan to give an empty I’m sorry and he doesn’t expect Jordan to have answers for all of the problems he’s suffered, but he feels cold here, laid bare and vulnerable, having passed the worst of his unhappiness into Jordan’s hands.

Then, “That really sucks.” At which point Seamus is about to inform Jordan that he’s already said as much, but he continues, “But I think you’ve come farther than you let yourself believe.”

Seamus looks at him, cocks his head to the side just a little. “How so.”

“I mean,” Jordan says softly, “We’re friends, aren’t we? And after yours and Aleks’ thing ended, you still stayed in contact with him. You let James drag you to all those parties too. I’m not saying that you’re perfectly fine or anything, but I think you’ve been taking small steps. You said it was like going through all of that scarred you, but I think you’re letting some of those wounds heal.”

Heal.

The word hits him like a weight, like something that he hasn’t considered since the moment he’d met Eddie’s sad eyes over the computer screen and known right then and there that something had been wrong. Since then Seamus has only thought of himself as completely knocked out, getting through things by letting them happen to him, rather than slowly, shakily getting back to his feet.

That had been the thing, hadn’t it? Having zero control over losing everything had ruined him, and in the wake of it all he’d floundered, walking a dizzy line between needing to have a tight grip on everything, such as whether or not to call Jordan his friend, and letting things happen to him, like letting James drag him out to a party he would be miserable at.

But seeing these, not as setbacks but rather as signs of moving forward?

Seamus is set to argue that Jordan’s wrong but he can’t find a counterargument that holds weight. He’s sure if he thinks about it long enough he’ll be able to find some kind of excuse, but even then, why?

Maybe someone looking from the outside in and telling him that he’s doing right by himself was something he needed.

“Wow.” Seamus says.  Wow sums up a lot of it, really. In all technicalities the world is very much the same as it was a few minutes ago, before Seamus had opened up to Jordan, but everything feels different now. He was sure he’d regret telling him everything as soon as he opened his mouth but now he doesn’t know what to think, only that he doesn’t regret it at all.

“I guess, thanks for listening, Jordan.” Seamus says, sensing the end of their conversation nearing. There’s still a whole entire eternity left after this moment in which Seamus will have to live and press onward, and Seamus is set to start on that now.

Jordan has other ideas.

“Can I ask you one thing, though?” He says, and Seamus looks at him again.

“I mean at this point what would be the point of not asking, really.” He replies. “What else have I got to lose.”

Jordan smiles a bit but it freezes on his face after that. He lifts a hand to his jaw and holds it there carefully as he asks;

“So what did Eddie think about all of this?”

The word sounds strange and awkward on Jordan’s tongue, like it doesn’t belong there. Stranger still is the moment when Seamus processes what he’s been asked, and has to consider his answer.

“I don’t.” Seamus says, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”

Talking about Eddie directly is a little more painful, Seamus would really rather not. But these doors are already wide open and trying to force them shut now would accomplish nothing.

“Well when was the last time you two were in contact?” Jordan asks.

Seamus tries to not bite down too hard on his lower lip. “The night we broke up.”

Which is not exactly true. There’d been a text or two thrown Seamus’ way in the aftermath, but during those times Seamus had been deep, deep in the recesses of his shut down, and hadn’t been able to make himself respond. There’d also been that time when he’d convinced himself to check up on the boy over facebook, and upon entering his profile the first thing Seamus had seen was Eddie’s arm thrown around the shoulders of a pretty girl with long golden hair and freckles.

He’d felt sick after that, and had never gone back.

“What!” Jordan says, sounding dumbfounded. “You haven’t talked to him since?”

“It’s not like it’s that easy!” Seamus argues. “It started off that I didn’t want to see him because I was too upset. Then too angry. Then I just couldn’t handle the idea of seeing him again.”

It was like Eddie had become this giant, nameless presence in Seamus’ life that was more than just an ex. Eddie represented all those amazing times they’d had, the pretty snowglobe they’d been trapped inside, and the violent angry shaking that came with it as well. He doesn’t know how to say this to Jordan.

“You just cut off all forms of communication? Your best friend? Your _boyfriend_?”

“Ex- boyfriend.” Seamus counters like it makes a difference.

“You can’t just cut someone who means that much to you out of your life!” Jordan sounds stunned and Seamus is bristling. He puts a hand up.

“Listen.” He says, “You don’t understand. I get how it looks from the outside but it wasn’t that easy. I didn’t want to cut him out, I felt like I had to at the time. I was shutting  _everything_  out.”

“But now you’re letting things back in.” The implication in Jordan’s voice is smooth like honey. Like he just had a eureka moment, and he couldn’t wait to share it with Seamus. Except the idea is preposterous, like it’s just been implied that he chat with a ghost.

“That’s different.” Seamus says. He looks at the ground and keeps his gaze there. But Jordan doesn’t even entertain him with a ‘how so’, he just goes right in with “Nah, not really.”

“Yeah, I know.” It hurts to say, but why lie. “But it’s like, I can’t even think about talking to him again. It’s not even that I don’t want to, I don’t know if I do, but it’s like I wouldn’t even know how. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Yeah, you probably wouldn’t.” Jordan agrees. “But you’d figure it out after a while, I bet. I mean this was someone who trusted and loved you after all, and broke up with you so that you could both live happier lives. I think you’d reconnect pretty easily.”

“It’s so easy for you to say that.” Seamus’ stomach is in knots. “But doing it is a whole other thing. You won’t have to be the one who does it. You won’t remember anything when you hear his voice, thinking of him regularly again won’t hurt you.”

Jordan bows his head so deeply that his hat flips off of his hair and down on to the floor. He picks it up and holds it carefully in his hands, running his thumbs over the fabric.

“You’re right, one hundred percent.” Jordan says. “And I’m not going to make you do anything, I can’t. But I know that when it seemed like everything in the world was against me and it would have been so much easier for me to run, I stood up anyway. It was hard, and scary, and it didn’t work every time. But I kept on getting up and moving forward. And because I did,” he secures his hat back on his head and looks up, “I got to meet you.”

Seamus feels his stomach lining quiver and the skin on his arm stands up. More than once throughout this whole conversation he’s been wavered near tears but the honesty in Jordan’s voice takes him closer than he’s been so far. He smiles, his heart is hammering. It’s the cheesiest thing he’s ever heard in his life and it’s going to make him cry.

“I can’t tell you that talking to him will make everything better, but I do think it will help. And I’m glad to listen to you whenever you need to talk again, but I can’t offer you condolences from experience like your friend can. Most of all though, Seamus,” Jordan laughs a short, dry sound, “It’s really obvious that you miss him. And I don’t think you’re being fair to yourself by dropping him from your life because he scares you. You deserve better than that.”

Seamus wants to say that it isn’t Eddie who scares him, it’s what the boy represents. But in the end isn’t it the same thing? Allowing Eddie back in his life would also allow the memories of the past year as well, and it would be so easy for that to be an automatic ‘no’. But the thought of hearing Eddie’s laugh again and making him smile also has plenty of merit.

So much of the baggage Seamus has dragged along with him over the course of the past year is tied to his memory and what their end had meant to Seamus. Imagining a world where that event wasn’t life ruining, only altering, feels strange, but not impossible.

It’s a lot to take in and think about, and no one is asking him to make the decision on a dime.  Seamus takes a second to heave a heavy breath, dropping his face into his hands and rubbing tiredly at his eyes. This was not what he’d expected this afternoon to turn into at all and honestly he’s not sure how things turned out this way. With Jordan staring at hi like he’s a precious thing in front of him and Seamus placing this much stock in the words of someone who he’d met at a party, who was supposed to be meaningless to him.

Who means the world to him.

“Goddamnit.” He says on the exhale of a large breath, and Jordan breaks out in a grin. “Do I have to pay for this session, doctor Matthewson? I don’t know if my insurance covers this.”

“I’ll let it slide once.” Jordan says cheekily, and slowly the tightness of the air and the pressure in Seamus’ throat thins out, and it becomes clear that all the things that should have been said are done with.

“Thank god.” Seamus says, slipping off the bed and stretching his legs. It’s only been a few minutes but it feels like hours have passed, maybe due to the fact that he’d traveled back at least a year in time and come all the way home. Jordan gets up as well, the clear progression of the moment is for them to head to James’ room now and pick up where they’d left off, but Jordan won’t let Seamus off the hook so easy.

“Hey.” Jordan says as Seamus makes for the hallway. Seamus turns to him and Jordan says, “Thanks for talking to me.”

“No problem.” Seamus replies. He’s surprised by how he means it. Jordan’s still watching him. “What.”

“I think you need a hug, Seamus.” His voice is coy, he knows Seamus will fight back.

“What? No. Terrible, don’t touch me.” But it’s too late, and long lanky arms are coming for him, winding around his frame from behind and giving him a single squeeze. Seamus fights for a moment and thinks to escape but it’s easier just to let the big idiot have this, apparently Seamus is just pandering to Jordan’s will today, or something.

He lets himself get held for a second and accepts the warmth of the boy at his back. Then Jordan tips his chin down to rest on Seamus’ head, reminding the boy of just how dwarfed he can be by Jordan’s tallness, and Seamus wriggles out of his grip and tells him to fuck off.

//

“Quit jerking off in there, we’re coming to kick your asshole in.” Seamus says as he leads the way into James’ room. Jordan laughs behind him, he somehow still manages to get surprised at Seamus and James’ colorful vocabularies. When they get inside, James is just rearranging himself to be sitting up on his bed, phone sliding off of his chest and on to the floor.

“I was wondering if you were still coming.” He says as they head for their designated spots on the floor.

“Oh, we were coming alright.” Seamus says and Jordan gasps, offended. “We just got sidetracked for a second first.”

James passes over the easier part of the comment to address the latter. “Yeah,” he says in a tone that’s supposed to carry over that he’s being serious and nice, “I figured you two had some shit to discuss.”

It takes Seamus a minute, then he realizes that James thought they’d been discussing last Saturday, not Seamus’ tattered broken past. He could almost laugh, how much easier that would have been.

And there is a talk that will no doubt be had, now that they’re apparently baring their souls to each other and speaking from their kindest and most honest places of being. Seamus doesn’t know what it will be about or when, but he doesn’t dread it. Not like he would have earlier today.

But right now he is more than talked out and there’s a man with a bow and arrow who needs him on this television, and so Seamus shrugs at James and gets his character ready, getting comfortable on the floor and not minding when Jordan’s crossed legs keep bumping into his knee.

//

He sees Jordan off at lunch the following day.

The moment the final bell of the day rings Jordan will be out of the school and on his way home, where a car stuffed to bursting with camping equipment is waiting for him. He’ll slide right into the passengers seat and ride for hours in the direction of one of the nearest mountains, where he’ll then hike all of that shit up, set up shop, and waste his next day and a half looking at nature or something, Seamus isn’t sure. By late afternoon Sunday he’ll have repacked his things and be headed back towards home. Seamus doesn’t get the appeal.

“It’s really phenomenal, Seamus.” Jordan says to him over lunch. “All the little animals are out exploring, everything’s in bloom, it’s not too hot or too cold yet. It’s my favorite time of the year to head out there, I only wish I could stay longer.”

“We’re gonna lose you to the mountains one day, I can feel it.” Seamus says to him. “I’ll drive up to the campgrounds ten years from now and all the kids will be telling stories about old man Matthewson who set up a tent by the river and never came back down.”

“I can only hope so.” Jordan sighs wistfully. “You know, you’re still more than welcome to come along, Seamus.”

“I would literally rather be dead.”

“Fair enough.”

“So what are you gonna do without me for a whole three days, Seamus?” Jordan asks with a smirk. “Will James be able to handle all of your crippling loneliness on his own or is he calling in backup?”

“I hope a bear eats you.”

Quite honestly, Seamus isn’t sure what his next three days will consist of. It’s true; over these last couple of months Jordan has become an extension of himself, wherever Seamus goes Jordan is sure to follow. If he were leaving for a worryingly long amount of time Seamus might be apprehensive, but he can handle the knowledge that Jordan will really only be gone Saturday, and back to texting him about trees or some shit on Sunday night.

They finish lunch together peacefully and resume their routine of walking each other to the parking lot once school has ended. Seamus, albeit begrudgingly tells Jordan to have a good time and pick a flower for him or something, and Jordan assured him that he’ll do just that. In the moments before they separate they just smile, until a honk from The Baby brings them back down to earth.

“Text me when you get home.” Seamus says in parting, and then they go their separate ways.

//

But the thing about not having Jordan around anymore is that Seamus really does go back to being alone.

Not isolated as he previously was, but rather stranded, almost. James is still there but he’s got plans to hang out with his friend Joe tonight and he and Seamus aren’t that familiar, and a night that would otherwise be spent either in Jordan’s company or at least texting unfunny memes to him is now one he spends alone.

It’s not too bad at first.

It’s not like Seamus is opposed to being alone, he prefers solitude a lot of the time. He needs time to himself to relax and stuff, to unwind, maybe clean up some of the clutter that’s accumulated around his room and holy fuck he’s never been so acutely aware that he’s alone.

What the hell, he’s done this before. He’s alone more than he’s around people. In the last nine or so months he’s been making it a priority to not be around them to keep his heart safe, and now he can’t remember what he used to do for fun.

Maybe loneliness isn’t as easy as it was when it was self-inflicted.

He could reach out to James, absolve himself back into the shadow of a person he used to be. Things weren’t always nice when he was hanging around him and his friends like a parasite and laughing along to jokes he didn’t understand but anything’s better than lying on his bed, or walking his Inquisitor around in tight little pirouettes on screen.

But James isn’t even home anymore and calling to ask him to turn The Baby around is pathetic, more pathetic than Seamus’ own person, currently. It crosses his mind to reach out to Dan –hey, remember me? We talked once and I’m dying here- but in the end Seamus just finds himself staring at the tv in front of him, submerged in a frown and waiting for the next number on the clock to change.

_Oh, just fucking talk to him._

Maybe all this isolation wouldn’t be so bad if Seamus could be left alone with his own thoughts.

It’s not like this past week hasn’t been life-uprooting or anything. Like it hasn’t challenged the ideals that Seamus had been operating under for months on end. Like it hasn’t opened his eyes to the kinds of improvements he’s been making in his life, while also highlighting the fact that he has steps to take to improve further.

Nah, none of that’s been going on. Especially not the part where the boy who wanted to kiss him had reminded Seamus that the boy who used to kiss him is still out there, is just a quick check of a phone number away, and probably ready and willing to hear from him.

Seamus hasn’t told anybody (James,) about their talk. Asking James whether or not he should start talking to Eddie again is useless, he knows his brother would tell him to, and he’d do it out of his own desire to help Seamus along. But in the end this is only a move Seamus can make, by himself and for himself, and its something he has to do alone.

Seamus spends the majority of his Friday night trying not to think of Jordan and Eddie and the weird torrent wracking his gut. It’s not that easy, it’s not.

Saturday burns itself out a little easier. Seamus bites the bullet and carries on around with James for a day, just like old times. If nothing else, it gives Seamus a chance to catch up on old haunts as he lingers around town, hands stuffed in his pockets, quiet except for a comment here and there that goes ignored by most.

  
God, he’d  _lived_  like this. Like, a month ago.

More than once Seamus catches himself thinking about Jordan, wondering what the boy is doing out there in the wild. Probably something stupid, reckless. The thought makes him smile.

Also more than once, and this is where he really feels pathetic, Seamus catches himself wondering what would have happened if he tagged along. There’s no doubt in his mind that he would be miserable there, eaten by bugs and wishing he was at home with the tv he currently can’t make himself watch. But at least up there he wouldn’t be constantly faced with the fact that Eddie’s new phone number would be maybe a ten second facebook message away.

Sunday comes, and he can’t goddamn take it anymore.

James is gone before he even wakes up, not a surprise since he sleeps in until noon because he’d spent a majority of the night before trying to make himself care about a The Nanny marathon on TVLand, crashing at around three am.

_Call him. It’ll take ten minutes._

Seamus does end up calling somebody. It feels strange to do it, yes, after all this time and without James here beside him, but Seamus feels caged and antsy and he needs the escape. He secedes to the call of his phone and scrolls down his contact list, to the T’s first before having to go back up to the C’s

**-You**

   im coming over

**-The Communist**

sweet, okay. When?

**-You**

I need you to pick me up.

**-The Communist**

Just you?

**-You**

James is out

**-The Communist**

uh

**-You**

please. No funny business, I swear. I just need to get out of here.

**-The Communist**

wheres your man?

**-You**

1\. fuck off. 2. Jordans out camping and im all alone and I need to get out of my head. Take pity on me please

**-The Communist**

k dude. I’ll be there in 10

**-You**

I knew I always loved you

**-The Communist**

woah dude save that for the tall guy

**-You**

I take it back I’m staying home and also deleting your number

**-The Communist**

getting up to leave now

//

It’s been a while since Seamus has been alone with Aleks.

The basement feels bigger around the two when James isn’t there to hog the long couch with his body. And neither boy knows how to pretend that the last few times they did this, they would have been close to naked at this point and certainly not minding the quiet.

“So what’s going on with James that you can’t tag around with him?” Aleks asks as he gets settled in his chair. Seamus opts for familiarity rather than taking the big couch, remembering all too much the last time he was here with Jordan curled up beside him.

“Dunno.” Seamus replies. “He was out before I was home. But I kinda hung around him all day yesterday and was pissy about it, I didn’t want to have to put him through that again.”

“Oh, cause Jordan’s gone.”

Seamus narrows his eyes, ready to fire a cold rebuttal in Aleks’ direction but he’s not wrong. Just right for the wrong reasons.

“I mean, yeah, I guess. But that’s not the only. Well. Fuck.”

Aleks lets out a dry, snake-like laugh that Seamus has come to familiarize with the boy, and he scowls as he looks up.

“A lot of shit’s been going on since I was over here last time, okay? It’s not that easy.”

“Well, tell me.” Aleks says. He offers a shiny glass bowl to Seamus who takes it gratefully in one hand, a lighter in the other.

 And it’s not a grasp for gossip or from even a curious standpoint from Aleks, that’s just what Seamus does when he hangs out with him. Seamus offers up his troubles on a big silver platter and takes what Aleks has to give him back, unbiased advice from the brain of a perpetually-stoned teenager.

He’d never gone into Eddie territory of course, because speaking of Eddie had been a giant scary taboo before Jordan had goaded it out of him. And even then Seamus had opened up because he trusted Jordan and wanted him to know. Telling Aleks would just get Seamus the ‘I’m sorry’s that he so richly despises.

And it’s hardly easier to approach the subject now, but it’s at the very least possible. Not in as colorful detail of course, but the words don’t feel so trapped inside of him anymore. Seamus differs the conversation for a few minutes so the smoke can wrap around all corners of his mind, and then his words won’t be so hard to keep in.

 He knows Aleks’ advice before the boy will even give it but he expands on his thoughts anyway, grateful, if nothing else, to have someone there to listen. Someone to repeat these words to beside himself.

“A while ago I was really close with this kid at my old school. Then some stuff went down and we stopped talking and it kind of messed me up,” Seamus gestures to himself, “As you can see. But Jordan’s trying to talk me into reaching out to him again and I don’t fucking. Know how, I guess? It would be weird talking to him again after all this time. I’ve been thinking about it all weekend.”

“Do it, dude.” Aleks says, three simple syllables rolling off his tongue. Seamus is about to launch yet again into ‘you don’t know how hard that would be’ territory, but Aleks continues. “Really, what have you got to lose? Did you stop talking because of a fight, or,”

“No, it wasn’t anything like that.” Seamus says. But already the simplicity of the advice is sinking in. What does he have to lose? Literally, after the entire shitshow that this past year has been, what is left? God, it’ll still hurt and be hard but maybe for once, for the first time in a long time, something good could come between them.

The weed is making him loopy, predictably.

They stay there and back and forth it for a while, things steering much the same way they had when Jordan had discussed this with him, albeit with a chiller, more relaxed mood. Without Seamus’ wits about him to make him defensive he just rolls with what Aleks asks him, why wouldn’t you do it, what could go wrong, do you want to.

In the end, Seamus is left with his last piece of solid ground under his feet, arms crossed and head heavy as he mutters, “I wouldn’t even know how. I unfriended him on facebook. I don’t have his number. What would I even do?”

“Did you wipe him from everything?”

“I think so, man.” Seamus sighs. “I mean, I might still have him in my old skype contacts, but our computer is old as shit and I. Oh. Oh my fucking god.”

//

Seamus convinces himself on the way home that there’s no way the old laptop will even load skype. Aleks calls it the universe stepping in to help and Seamus tells him to shut the hell up, but in the end there’s really only one thing to do. Outside his house Seamus invites Aleks in to see the event through but Aleks, in his infinite wisdom, declines.

“This is all about you, dude.” The boy assures him. “This is something you gotta do on your own.”

And he’s right. Seamus bids Aleks farewell in the driveway and thanks him for putting up with him all this time. Aleks replies that it was no problem at all, and then Seamus is headed in, heart in his throat.

The laptop had been deposited under Seamus’ desk a week ago and had gone unused so far. Before it had just been awkward, it was a remnant of Jordan that came with the reminder of their kiss after all, but looking at it now, it’s just a laptop. A large rectangle that holds all the promise in the world, and a giant question mark inside of it. Maybe he’ll just toss it out the window and no one would be any wiser.

As Seamus boots it up it hums to life and welcomes him in, and all the way up until the point that the skype application successfully installs, Seamus is waiting for it to crash or burn or fail. For Aleks to be wrong and for this to have been a singular, momentary hiccup.

Everything’s happening so fast but Seamus knows that if he pauses to contemplate this even once, then he won’t do it at all.

Skype installs just fine and asks for Seamus’ login. He hasn’t used it in  _months_ but the username returns to his mind and fingers without so much as a blip in his memory.

**SSOHPKC**

**********

And then he’s in.

His old address book greets him then, and it’s not a far scroll to get to Eddie’s name. There’s always the chance that Eddie’s no longer using it, or isn’t on line. But as the screen loads sure enough there he is. Real as he’s ever been with a profile picture that’s different than what it had been last time Seamus had seen it and a green check by his name.

Green. Not even yellow.

He hesitates, of course. Takes a minute to stare at Eddie’s picture and will his heartbeat to calm. The ride over had cleared his head of any long-lasting effects of the weed and now it’s just him and his will, battling it out here on the frontlines. He takes a deep breath, thinks of Jordan.

Thinks of the person he’s been these past few months and thinks, filling his lungs with cold air, of just how bad he’d missed the boy, and had convinced himself that something like this just couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t.

He hits call.

Every nerve in his body is on high alert and Seamus hasn’t even begun to think about what he’ll say when Eddie picks up –if he picks up- and he’s just about to consider slamming the laptop shut and hiding it back under the bed from whence it came when the call is rejected.

“Wh. What.”

He actually says it out loud. The syllables cross over his tongue and he says them to nobody, to the silence and emptiness of his own room.

_What. He’d done all this, done it right, and still, no?_

Faster than his mind can comprehend, his fingers are on the keyboard. The adrenaline, or maybe the quiet, tiny excitement over maybe getting to see his Eddie again has taken him.

**SSOHPKC**

-Sorry, are you busy?

…

**SLYFOX :+)**

-Wait you meant to do that

That’s Eddie. That’s Eddie talking to him. Addressing him directly. Him! Holy shit.

**SSOHPKC**

-Yeah?

**SLYFOX :+)**

-!!!!

The screen splits in half, and this time it’s Eddie who is calling Seamus, and the panic that had burnt out with the dropped call rears up again, louder, scarier.

Seamus accepts the call.

A small green light at the top of the laptop flicks on, and Seamus comes to see a pasty reflection of himself on screen. The angle is anything but flattering and his skin is washed out, paler than usual at least, but he hardly notices for long.

Not when a little window opens up in front of him a second later, and a boy with suntanned skin and dark black hair and a pair of nerdy framed glasses is adjusting his camera to get his angle right, and Seamus can’t breathe.

He looks good. Achingly familiar but also different at the same time. His hair, which he’d kept short before, is now longer and kept in a poofy pompadour. His already golden skin is sun-kissed and the goatee he’d been working on last July has come in so nicely. It’s hard to believe it’s him and so unmistakably Eddie at the same time.

“Seamus?” Comes a voice from the computer. Seamus pounces on the volume button and ratchets it up to as loud as it will go. “Is this really happening right now? Am I asleep?”

His accent, his voice. All there, all strong, all waiting for him to be back.

“Yeah, no.” Seamus says, his voice wavers. He’s gotta be stronger than this. He’s gotta be brave. “This is happening. How have you been?”


	8. Chapter 8

It’s awkward at first, difficult, there’s no getting around it. But maybe there really shouldn’t be any way around it.

Maybe Seamus should have to wear his regret on his face as he meets Eddie’s confused expression, hunching his shoulders and nodding. Yep, really him, really Seamus. Really the boy who had, in retrospect, taken a suggestion that the two stop seeing each other very, very literally.

“I’m good, Seamus.” Eddie says, baffled. God, hearing his name being said by the voice again. It’s nice but at the same time it’s real, it’s so much more real than he was ready for. “How about you?”

“Oh, I’m.” Seamus manages, still kind of transfixed. Eddie, his Eddie, right there. “Well, I’m still here.”

Eddie nods on screen slowly, he says first; “Yeah, I get that.”

Then the silence of a lot of time and unanswered questions stretches between them and this has to be a record for how many times one single person has considered slamming down the lid of their laptop and making a break for the outside. Seamus does neither of these.

“So…” Eddie says on the other end and Seamus realizes he is doing a very poor job of contributing to the conversation, “Was there a reason that you called me, or,”

“Uh, yeah.” Seamus says. The adrenaline is still riding his system hard but the longer he sits here in this chair and stares forward, hears that voice and attributes it to that face, everything gets realer.

And there are a lot of reasons Seamus called, but he doesn’t have the slightest clue where to begin. He called because he wanted to stop letting the past affect his future. He called because everyone around him has been saying it’s the right thing to do and even the little moral compass in his chest has pointed him here. He called because if he didn’t, he would live the rest of his days ignoring that a close friend still existed out there, perfectly accessible and just a little bit scary.

“I guess.” Seamus says softly. “I called because I miss you.”

Flattery of the statement aside, it does not take long for Eddie to be unimpressed by this.

“Yeah well I missed you too for a while last summer. You remember that, when I wanted to stay friends with you and tried to keep in contact, and you completely locked me out? Hm?”

Seamus ducks his head. He has a feeling he’ll be doing a lot of that tonight.

“You’re upset.” He deduces, ever the brilliant soul.

“Not anymore, no.” Eddie corrects him. “It’s been too long for me to be upset now. Now I’m just over it. I feel nothing.”

Ouch.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch.” Eddie says. “Ouch from like eight months ago from when I wanted to talk to my best friend and he left me behind in the dirt, ouch.”

God, there’d been a whole other person at the other end of Seamus’ angst. A whole other person who had gotten locked out by a boy falling apart, a person two thousand miles away and unable to reach out, to help or be helped, and could only let himself heal alone when it was the last thing he wanted.

Seamus is still tired of hearing the ‘i’m sorry’s he got from the people around him at that time last year. But he is not afraid to start dishing them out.

“Eddie.” He says, staring straight into the boy’s eyes on screen, even if it looks like he’s just looking at the computer from the other end. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

A more ferocious, more cruel person might let their anger get the better of them here, and Seamus would honestly be fully okay with Eddie ending the call there, showing him just how it feels to be locked out. If the tables were turned and Eddie had even an ounce of the bitterness that makes up Seamus’ person, there would be no doubt in it happening.

But thankfully Eddie is not Seamus, and instead he takes the apologies in with open arms. Seamus sees his rigid frame relax just a little, and he lets out a breath that cruelly buffets the speaker.

“Yeah,” he says. “You better be.”

Seamus explains to the best of his ability, what had gone on in the aftermath of their breakup. He loses track of how many times the weight in his chest makes him repeat that it was no excuse, that he’s sorry, that it wasn’t personal and it was because the event was just hitting him all at once. Eddie takes this in stride, not immediately forgiving but definitely willing to listen, until Seamus has all but talked himself out about it. He’s been doing a lot of that lately.

“After a while I couldn’t even think about calling you because I just wanted it to be over. And at the time it didn’t feel like I could move on from everything that had happened if you were still in my life. And, you know, for a while there I was still pretty in love with you.”

That gets him the first smile of the evening, and the reality of that is almost more than Seamus can handle. Only almost though, as he’s been learning lately that he can handle more than he’d ever thought he could.

“And how did that work out for you, Seamus?” Eddie tuts. Seamus looks away from the computer, accidentally making eye contact with the camera instead. Ugh, he’s a wreck.

“It.” he says carefully. “Did not. I sort of turned into a friendless shut in that was so miserable, James ended up dragging me out to parties at all hours of the night, trying to figure out how to make me happy again. Everything kind of turned into a clusterfuck, actually.”

“Oh no.” Eddie says with an air of genuine kindness behind it. Seamus almost leans into the tone.

“Yeah, it was pretty shitty. Not as shitty as ignoring you, but.”

The closest thing to a laugh so far comes out of Eddie’s mouth and Seamus is desperate for it. “Okay, okay man. No need to be the martyr.”

“I’m not being a martyr.” Seamus insists. “I just feel like a sack of crap for pushing you out of my life when you were the biggest part of it for so long.”

“As you should.” Eddie says smugly, and Seamus cracks a grin. “But you’re here now, baby boy, and that’s something, isn’t it? We have to keep the past where it was, in the past.”

“You sure said it.” Seamus says just under his breath, and Eddie leans in closer to the mic.

“What was that? I think you cut out for a second.”

Seamus looks up at Eddie who is watching him with equal parts scrutiny and amusement. Maybe he deserves this. Maybe he deserves more hell for what he’d put Eddie through, or maybe that’s what he’d been suffering all along.

It hits him then that maybe none of that matters at all, as he’s moved on from that mistake and is working to right it instead.

“I said I missed you.” Seamus says, wishing for the first time in a very, very long time that he could have been near the boy physically when he’d said that, for the hug that would most certainly follow. Sure enough Eddie is still predictable enough to grin and cock his head at these words, cooing a gentle,

“Aww. I missed you too, you shitlord.”

They talk about Eddie’s side of things then, how the world is in the perpetual sweat-stain of the United States that is Florida. Eddie asserts that this place is where he was made to be, and that it’s been nothing but good to him since he got back.

It’s clear there’s so much he wants to go over but he picks and chooses his topics very carefully. He starts off by informing Seamus that time has only helped his family grow to accept the way he is. They’d been all for it at the get go but enough outings with Eddie where the boy had unabashedly appreciated the male form as much as he did the female, and everybody in between, had really given them a taste of what their son was really made out of. And they loved him for it.

School wise he had done his best, getting back into the challenge with gusto. Unsurprisingly he hadn’t done too well on the early finals that had been handed to him on the very same day he was scheduled for a flight out of state, but they hadn’t tanked him, only had given him something to focus on during the long months when, again, just a reminder, his best friend had stopped talking to him and returning his texts and checking his facebook and goddamnit, he’d said he was sorry!

A high-pitched little giggle had hit the open air, and Seamus found himself the closest to crying in relief that he thinks he can physically be. Maybe if he gets an honest open-mouthed wail of laughter, then the waterworks will really start flowing.

The final thing Eddie is eager to bring up about his life is his girlfriend, Kala. And god, Seamus wants to be happy for him right off the bat. He doesn’t want to hear the world girlfriend like it’s an insult or a threat. He still loves Eddie so much but he’s at least accepted that the two have gone their separate ways, though that’s hardly apparent from the way his eyebrows jump and he looks down instantly, willing himself not to look wounded.

Eddie also sounds ecstatic when he talks about her, not even noticing Seamus’ discomfort. He goes right into how they’d met on a beach when she’d been there with her sketchbook, and she’d drawn a tiny portrait of him and his dog, Chef, and then shown it to him later. The two had hit it off and kicked up a fast friendship that over time had deepened into something different, something more. Now Eddie talks about her like she’s the queen of the world. She’s clearly the queen of his.

And Seamus does miss hearing Eddie talk about him like that, but it’s hard to keep whatever long-dead ties to those feelings he’d had afloat. Not when every word Eddie is using to describe her is something along the lines of beautiful, funny, amazing, perfect.

It’s a strange moment, realizing that, romantically at least, he’s well and truly over this boy, and knows they’ll never date again. But watching his eyes gleam and his face light up as he talks about her, it’s hard to be sad about it. Instead he coos and gives the appropriate ‘aww’s and ‘she sounds great’s that Eddie so richly deserves.

“So, Seamus,” Edie coos when he’s gotten as much about Kala out of his system as he will tonight. His tone is flirty and light and Seamus doesn’t like where he’s going with this. “Anyone special in your life these days? Break any hearts lately?”

He’d like to say that his first answer is no, actually, as he’d only just moved on from Eddie thirteen seconds ago. But in all reality as soon as Eddie says the words ‘anyone special’, Jordan pops up in his mind. The image of the boy who sat with him at a party once and went on to become his closest friend and most trusted confidant (that he is not related to by law,) is sturdy and unwavering, and Seamus exhales.

“Eh.” He says, not wanting to say it. What good will all this fight have been if he caves in now? “It’s been an interesting couple of months.”

Eddie leans forward, propping his chin on to his wrist. “How so, tell me papi.”

But what’s the harm in Eddie knowing who Jordan is? Seamus can at least spare him that, and maybe it’s important for Eddie to know the name of the boy who had joined James in the precarious task of getting Seamus back on his feet.

“A couple of months ago I was at this party James made me go to, and I met this guy named Jordan.”

If Seamus hadn’t just listened to Eddie fawn and coo over his girlfriend for the last ten minutes, he might not pick up on all the ways he does very much the same about Jordan. The way he describes him, yes, as an idiot, but the kind of idiot this world needs to make it better. Who had endured so much and how he’d sought out Seamus for comfort, but in the end had given it back in droves, as they’d learned to navigate their respective hellscapes together.

By the time Seamus brings up the fact that it was Jordan’s idea for him to make this call so that he and Eddie could reconnect and be friends again, the boy in Florida is all but swooning after Seamus’ every word. Seamus could have given a rougher sell about how strangely-yet-charmingly the boy was obsessed with cats, or how he could pick a nerve just as easily as soothe one or how he was too damn tall for his own good, but he sees no reason to add that in. Those details won’t change how Eddie thinks of Jordan now.

“Seamus, your man sounds amazing.” Eddie breathes, and Seamus can only hang his head.

“He’s not. We’re not, it’s not like that.” He says.

Eddie looks personally insulted. “What! Why not?”

“Uh. Actually he tried to kiss me last week- he did kiss me, really, and it freaked me out. It reminded me of… of you, and how badly everything had gone and I couldn’t make myself go through with it. I left him hanging and told him we could still be friends. He restored the laptop that I’m talking to you with right now.”

Seamus expects a sad sigh from Eddie, maybe a noise of pity to accommodate his tender hurt feelings. Instead he gets the angry sound of a palm slapping down on a table, and Eddie’s face thrust flush against the camera, from where he gives Seamus a frowning glare.

“Seamus!” Eddie barks at him, and even from two thousand miles away he’s led to rear backwards. “What the hell is wrong with you!”

“Uh.” Seamus says. The he lands the follow up with: “What.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now, saying these words?” Eddie asks him, “Are you the same person who was here a minute ago, talking about how you’ve spent every waking moment with this kid because he makes your life better and you make his better? And he likes you too, enough to kiss those ignorant lips?”

“It’s.” Seamus flounders. “It’s not as easy as that. There was so much baggage from the last year and,”

“Fuck baggage!” Eddie snaps. “Do you think I didn’t have hella issues when I met my girl? Of course I did! But I wasn’t about to let that stop me! And together we worked through it so I could be happier with her. I wasn’t about to spend the rest of my life tied down to times that were over because it was safer, that’s no way to live.”

Seamus decides he won’t tell Eddie that he swore off romance after they’d broken up, as he’s fairly sure the boy would find a way to smack him all the way from the bayous. But he can’t come up with another justification that isn’t ‘It scares the living fuck out of me to even think about doing this.’

In all fairness, though, he could say the same about this skype call. Which, all things considered, has turned out to be a pretty good idea. (Up until now at least.)

Seamus doesn’t say anything to this and Eddie looks carefully into the screen.

“Seamus, let me ask you some questions, alright?”

Why the fuck not. “Okay.”

“This Jordan boy. Is he the first person you think of in the morning and the last one before you fall asleep?”

He could lie, say no. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“Is he fun to be around, even though if anyone else acted certain ways around you, you’d be annoyed as fuck?”

Goddamnit. “…Yeah.”

“When you see him does your tummy go all wobbly and little fat cupid babies start flying in circles around your head while that music goes  _da-da-da-da-daaaaa,”_

“You’ve taken this too far.”

Eddie laughs. It’s a beautiful sound. “Okay. How about this, does he make you happy?”

Seamus pauses, looks all around him. There’s no delaying the inevitable, really.

“The happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

Eddie looks at him right through the camera, his words are weighted.

“Then you should tell him that, he deserves to know.”

Then he’s peering over Seamus’ shoulder like he thinks Jordan might be in the room with them. When no third person announces themselves to the conversation Eddie turns his attention back to Seamus.

“Where is he, right now?”

“He’s on a camping trip up in the mountains, but he should be home,” Seamus checks the clock on the computer, it coincides with how the sun is heading for the horizon outside. “Soon.”

“Camping.” Eddie repeats after a moment. “Why the fuck are you in love with someone who camps?”

Seamus stutters at this and tries to grasp at words flying too fast out of his mouth.

“I don’t. It’s not, I don’t love him it’s- goddamnit.”

“Seamus, when he gets back I really think that you should have a talk with him. It’s very natural to be scared of this kind of thing when everything went out in a blaze of glory like we did, but it’s not okay to let that hold you back. If you care about this boy you should tell him, and if you want him to kiss you, you should let him. Being scared and having baggage is okay, but you can’t let it control you forever.”

Seamus had really, really wanted to kiss him.

This coinciding of course with the ensuing panic and hectic breakdown that followed in Jordan’s room that day, but this is a truth that’s been around Seamus since then. Even though he’d programmed himself to say no and push the boy away, even though it had very much freaked him out and been too much to handle, there’d been no doubt there that he’d lingered, just a moment, on the lips of the person who had given him so much.

Admitting this to himself should make Seamus feel like he’s losing. It’s what he expects.

Instead, his fingers start to drum and his heart starts to beat a little faster.

“I think I will.” Seamus answers slowly, and the words run a thrill up his spine. He doesn’t even know the full meaning of them, but it’s the thought of it all that excites him. He has so much he needs to say to Jordan, but he doesn’t so much as have a clue at the same time. It’s liberating. It’s terrifying.

“That’s my Seamus, I knew you had it in you!” Eddie cheers from beyond.

“Wow, you don’t waste any time at all, do you?” Seamus asks with a laugh a moment later, as the realization settles. “We don’t talk for eight months, then we do, then you’re staging confessionals for hapless romantics.”

“Wasting time isn’t really my thing.” Eddie says. “I really wish you hadn’t wasted so much of yours ignoring me.”

“Yeah.” Seamus sighs. “Me too, really.”

“So stay in touch this time, alright?” Eddie asks, and Seamus spares a glance at the clock again, and at Eddie. “I gotta go soon, and you’ve got a boy to talk to, but don’t be a stranger, okay? I don’t want to lose you again!”

“I didn’t plan on losing you again.” Seamus replies, the words coming easier than he’d intended. “I kind of figured you wouldn’t let me, anyway.”

Eddie winks at him. “Exactly what I wanted to hear. Now go to him, lover boy.” Then he smiles his biggest grin yet. “Bye, Seamus.”

“Bye.” He says, though it’s more than a little tough to do so. He waves, Eddie waves, and then the connection between them cuts, and the world is plunged into silence.

“…What just happened?”

Seamus asks this to the room around him but it doesn’t answer, only presses in on him as his eyes land on the clock. Jordan should be heading into the city now, not too far from home. Seamus’ legs start to bounce, his fingers twitch. Jordan will no doubt text him once he gets in but nothing over the phone, nothing but seeing him will feel right. Seamus’ parents aren’t in and James is who the fuck knows where, and this is absolute torture.

After running the numbers Seamus figures out that at the very least he’ll see him tomorrow at school, but he can’t say what needs to be said over lunch. After school then, but that’s an eternity to wait. God, of course Seamus would have to go gaga over some kid who lives on the other half of the fucking equator goddamnit-

There’s a clink from behind him, and Seamus almost rockets a foot in the air for how much it takes him by surprise. When he whips around it’s James who is standing there in the bathroom doorway, and under his hand that hovers cautiously over his table are a pair of small, silver, delicate keys. He’s looking at Seamus with fire in his eyes before he instead looks outside where the sun is beginning to set.

“You ‘d better hurry.” He says to his brother, voice light. “You’re already running pretty late.”

Seamus doesn’t even take a second to process this. He has no clue how long his brother’s been there or what he’d heard, but it doesn’t matter. Within a heartbeat he’s on his feet and in front of James, securing the keys in his hand and looking shocked. He has words somewhere inside him but they’re swathed up and lost, and in his excitement all he can do is trip into his brother’s arms for a fast, sloppy hug before he’s out the door.

He thinks, as he revs the car engine and peels out the driveway in the direction of Jordan’s home, that he can hear James cheering for him out the front window.

//

He has no clue what he’ll say once he gets there.

_Jordan, listen, I’m sorry for how I freaked out at you before and let you worry afterwards. I’ve been selfish, and you’ve been patient._

_Jordan, I’ve got a lot of shit that keeps me from being perfect boyfriend material. But so do you, and I think we should try this out together._

_Jordan, I’m sorry I’m a fuckstick._

All options seem viable at the time as Seamus steers The Baby down main roads and side streets, willing her to take him safely and swiftly. He’s never had any faith in this vehicle but now everything he has is riding on it, and every foot further it takes him is one he’s grateful for.

By the time he turns down Jordan’s street he’s a mess of nerves and energy. Somewhere on the way over the fire that Eddie and James had lit inside him had waned, but the sight of the Matthewson’s family’s car in the driveway reignites it tenfold. He still has no clue what he’ll say. How he’ll even begin to explain what’s going on. But as he pulls up down the street and watches Jordan round the back of the car, popping the trunk and loading a duffle bag under his arm, he doesn’t care.

The Baby is no master of subtlety, when she chugs down the street everyone notices, and when her engine cuts off abruptly the silence is wrenching. As Seamus pulls out the keys and shoves the front door open it catches the attention of Jordan, who turns to Seamus with a baffled look on his face.

“Seamus..?” He asks as the boy marches up to him, full of vigor and terror. “Is everything okay? You look,”

Then Seamus reaches him, and he’s looking up at him and he thinks his lungs might explode with how tight they are at this very moment. He looks at Jordan, and everything falls into place.

“Get down here.”

He says this as he reaches up, pushing himself on to the tops of his feet so he can connect his mouth to Jordan’s own and keep it there. For a second Jordan doesn’t move, frozen to the spot, but he picks up on what is happening very fast and responds wholeheartedly, leaning down to kiss him proper, to bring him in close.

Somewhere, distantly, in another world, the duffel bag that had been in Jordan’s hand topples to the ground. Mr. Matthewson, returning outside to grab another haul of camping gear, stops dead in his tracks. Seamus notices none of this. He notices nothing but Jordan in front of him, Jordan wrapping his long arms around Seamus’ waist.

Jordan, here with him, where he should have been all along.

//

“You sure you don’t wanna come out tonight? It’s gonna be a good time.”

James says this coyly as he passes Seamus on the sofa. The boy is not listening to James, as he is very, very much engrossed in what is going on on-screen. Dr. Mario and the Duck Hunt Dog  are dueling it out in a timed skirmish, all items on. The Wii U tablet Seamus had gotten for his birthday has made the living room the latest hot-spot of the house, and if it had been demanded that it be set up there so that Seamus’ parents could oversee their son and his boyfriend’s activities, so be it.

From the other end of the couch, Jordan is also not listening, choosing instead to squeak protests as his character (The Dog,) gets whacked quickly and repeatedly closer to the edge. Jordan’s chanting his name, “Seamus, Seamus, Seamus, please!” Which has to be one of Seamus’ favorite sounds, especially with how it coincides with the countdown timer, and Jordan’s inevitable loss.

“GAME.” Says the announcer, and the absurdly long legs draped over Seamus’ waist kick out their displeasure.

“Rematch!” Jordan says, and Seamus cackles at him.

“Sure, I could whoop your ass again. First things first though,” He turns and looks at James. “What the fuck are you saying to me?”

He catches his brother’s eye just quick enough to see that little flash of fondness get through before he grins terribly. Then James is straightening out his shirt and checking his pocket for the keys to The Baby, sighing as he says “Nothing that would interest you, don’t worry about it.”

“Then don’t say it to me.” Seamus counters, and James flips him the bird. Such a loving bond they share.

“Are you gonna be out all night, James?” Jordan asks from the loser end of the couch, looking up from the menu screen and behind him.

“Most likely.” James replies. “And unless the folks cut their date night off early, you two should have the house to yourselves well into the evening. So don’t fuck in my room while I’m out.”

“Zero promises.” Seamus says nonchalantly as Jordan goes red. Then a second later Seamus is hissing in annoyance as he grabs at his phone stationed next to him at the side-table. All throughout the match it had been buzzing nonstop, and now Seamus lifts it to his ear, grumbling, “I’ve got a five-oh streak on Jordan right now and if you think I’m pausing the game for anything you’ve got to offer me, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Hello to you too, Seamus!” Eddie chirps. “You’re playing Smash?”

“So perceptive, the Cardonas.” Seamus sighs as he navigates the stage select screen. “Talk fast, I don’t have a lot of time.”

“I just wanted to see what you were up to.” Eddie says, and Seamus is a second away from declaring this less important than his winning streak when the boy chimes in, “But hold on, okay? I’m joining in, let me get my game ready.”

There’s a muffled voice in the background of wherever Eddie is and then the boy speaks again, “And Kala too, be ready for us.”

“Ready to kick your asses, maybe.” Seamus says, and drops the phone beside him with a thump.

He says to Jordan, “Eddie and Kala are joining in, be ready.” To James he says, “Call me if something goes wrong so I can pass on the message to someone competent.”

Both boys respond with a solid ‘Okay’.

//

After the romantic music had died down and the world faded back to normal, Seamus had pulled back from Jordan with his heart hammering, mouth a little open and panting. Jordan had just looked at him, stunned, and kept his arms around Seamus’ frame as long as he could before a barking laugh from Mr. Matthewson had interrupted them both.

Seamus had instinctively jumped back at this but Jordan was nailed to the spot as the older man gave a half-wave to them, fast approaching. At first Seamus thought he was coming over to give his kudos to the happy couple or to play some game of I-told-you-so, but instead he’d just reached into the trunk, grabbing another load of camping gear.

“You miss him, Seamus?” He’d asked, lighthearted, and Seamus’ mind and mouth had furiously worked together to drum up a response.

“Uh.” He’d said. He looked at Jordan who was watching him with eyes bigger than the moon, “Yeah.”

After that necessity had taken over, as Jordan had automatically moved to pick up his bag. Seamus, still wrung taut from everything that had happened over the course of the hour, had only watched for a moment before Mr. Matthewson had dropped what looked to be a bag of sticks? (Who knew with those camping people,) and Seamus had offered to help.

After all, it’s always important to make a good impression on the in-laws.

There’d been a tight, wordless glance between Jordan’s parents in the aftermath, after the last of the bags had been led inside and Jordan had cautiously invited Seamus up to his room so they could talk. But through ever-polite, plastic grins they’d said nothing, and Seamus had tailed Jordan upstairs until the door was closed behind him.

“So.” Jordan said in the ensuing silence. Seamus had gotten his breathing under control but seeing him there still made his skin feel tight, like he was radiating with energy. “Something’s changed.”

Seamus let his body fall against the doorframe and his arms crossed themselves, keeping the weight of the situation at bay ash he’d breathed, ”Actually, very little changed. Pulled my head out of my ass, but other than that.”

Jordan smiled, lifting a hand to his mouth and letting his fingers just rest against his lips. Seamus felt every urge to do the same, but swallowed it.

“I called Eddie a little bit ago.”

Jordan looked at him, surprised. “Oh really.”

“Yeah, we caught up. He’s doing fine. Has a girlfriend. Turns out,” Seamus takes an experimental step in Jordan’s direction, “He’s got a great career option in motivational speaking.”

  
It hadn’t taken that much more conversation to get the point across, and the honest glimmer on Jordan’s eyes when it had hit him that his feelings were reciprocated will never leave Seamus’ mind.

He’d wanted to stay longer, talk at length about how well Eddie was doing and about the weekend and the singular, startling moment when he’d known there would be no going back when James’ keys had hit the desk. But Jordan had just gotten in from three (ish) days of camping and he was tuckered out. Ecstatic beyond all belief, yes, but also dirty and tired and hungry. In the end they’d said their goodbyes and promised to talk more when both of them were at similar energy levels, and Seamus had wanted to kiss him again but instead he’d gone.

//

It was surprising, really, just how little things changed in the aftermath. Jordan and Seamus picked up right where they’d left off, talking frequently, around each other constantly, bickering incessantly. But the divide between them had lessened even more, and over time they started to gather the courage to slip their hands together when they were close, or let gazes linger on each other’s backs without fear of getting caught.

//

Seamus lies back on his mattress now, just able to see the moon floating high above the mountains outside his window. It’s late and he’s bone tired, ready for sleep to take him deep under its depths. In the room beside him the shower hums its usual medley, the sound of Jordan stepping back and forth accenting the thrumming of the water hitting the cold floor. They had considered a dual shower momentarily, but concern for safety had won out in the end and Seamus had gone first, then strode out in just his boxers and let Jordan know he was up next. Watching a nervous, devilish delight spark up Jordan’s frame at this had been worth it.

Seamus watches the moon; he listens to the distant sounds of Jordan humming in the other room. He cannot actually believe that he has gotten this far.

Things aren’t perfect. Right now they’re neither public nor in secret at their school, but the rumor mill has started churning once again now that Jordan Matthewson, yeah that guy remember him, has been spotted canoodling with Seamus O’Doherty (Did you know he’s James Wilson’s brother?) in-between classes. Summer’s fast approaching and even faster still comes Seamus’ senior year, and Jordan’s Junior one. After that neither have any idea what will happen, what awaits them.

And speaking of what awaits them, Seamus would be lying if he said that being with Jordan still came easy and free to him, like the feelings had once before. Some nights he still loses sleep over what the future could hold for him and them, good or bad or otherwise all together. But now he’s no longer going at it alone. He’s got James and Eddie by his side, ready to help him through, their patience and reliability now long proven and priceless.

 And he has Jordan. His Jordan. Jordan in whom he can confide all his worries and Stresses and receive comfort in return. He’s lost count of how many times he’s heard that no matter what they face, they’ll face it together, but the words never fail to wrap around the most wounded parts of him and keep him going just that much further.

The shower cuts off and a few minutes later Jordan emerges in a cloud of condensation, dressed only in shorts and body still a little damp. Seamus eyes him, daring the boy to ruin his nice dry sheets with his damp body, and then squawks a protest as he’s smothered in flailing legs and arms and lips. He grumbles a complaint as they wriggle together, close and comfortable, until his chin is hooked over Jordan’s shoulder and their legs are entwined. From where his arms fall, he can just feel Jordan’s heartbeat under his fingers.

He’ll get him back for that eventually.

It’s not perfect, and the future is not secure, and the world is still out there big and scary and waiting for them. It’s long proven that it’s more than ready to try and take them down, and will probably lobby everything it has against their favor. Nothing’s ever stopped it before.

 But as Seamus’ breath slows to match Jordan’s own and his eyes grow heavy in the warm darkness, Seamus knows for certain now that whatever comes their way next, they'll be able to make it through.


End file.
